


The Stacks

by Jo_The_Intellectual



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Adrenaline addiction, Blackmail, Cop Roman, Depression, Discrimination, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gang Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inequality, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, Poverty, Prostitution, Senator Logan, Slow Burn, Stealing, Theft, Trans Character, Trans OCs, as in poor depression, mentioned prostitution, slight PTSD, theif Virgil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 128,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_The_Intellectual/pseuds/Jo_The_Intellectual
Summary: In this society there is a place where the poor and unwanted are placed and kept hidden away from everyone else, where poverty and crime are a frequent and life shines for no one. Stacked up high in the sky, this is the furthest anyone living there will ever reach. When a Depression consumes the land, and the government fails to bring an end to it, society turns even further on the residents of the Stacks, accusing them for bringing the rest of them down. What no one knows, however, is that it'll take the work of four unlikely people to not only bring an end to the poverty, but also to this inequality.





	1. The New Depression

The early morning sounds of the Stacks always consisted of the same things each day; the beggars would be getting up from their boxes or crates and head into the city, some would stay and beg where they were, and others would instead head for the restaurant district for lunchtime when leftovers from breakfast would be thrown into the trash; gang members would bang on the side of crate doors, demanding the weekly pay for their so called protection; and at least a fight or two would breakout in the dirt streets before the time reached ten o’clock.

However all that early bustle was drown out by the numerous clocks stored in such a small space. The constant ticking was the only peace one could hope to find in this hell. Sitting up slowly from his makeshift bed, a young man with a head of dark black hair and a purple fringe got up to start his daily ritual.  Only twenty years in age, life had not been kind to him, although, when had it ever been kind to anyone here? 

The man looked to the hand made wall clocks and watches stored in a cardboard box and peered over them to see which ones where ready to sell. One, two, three… only four of them did he deem in good enough state to be sold. That left five others in need of more parts and material. Gathering the watches up in his hoodie pockets and bringing the cardboard box and a sheet with him, he opened the large door to his crate. Placed on top of the third highest stack in the city he had a tough time climbing down rope ladders and poorly made, rigid stairs, but living on top had its perks, one of being he didn’t have to deal with resident gangs as often.

Running over to the edge of the Stacks the man headed for a transit to take him into the city center; and by transit he meant an older woman who happened to be one of the few here to own a truck and got her money by driving people from the Stacks to the city and back. She had a rigid schedule, and if you didn’t make her set time, you had to walk.

Already waiting there was a oddly bubbly man, dressed in ripped khaki shorts and a light blue polo shirt with a few patches sewn on. How this death hole could have ever produced such a sweet and loving man he'll never know. Looking up to see him running over, he waved his hands eagerly to greet him. 

"Morning Virgil!" He greeted brightly as they climbed into the back of the truck.

"Hey, Patton. Sorry I was almost late." The Clockmaker apologized, taking a seat next to him as the truck began to pull away from the stop.  

The tuck started down the road moving from the dirt and entering the highway that led directly to the downtown area. Sitting in the very back of the pickup truck, smashed in with ten other people, Virgil watched as the towers of junk became smaller and smaller, dreaming of the day he’d be able to leave them for good.

The Stacks. Its definition might as well mean the end of the road. It was where one would go when they had nowhere else, no one else, and nothing else. Set up anywhere from fifteen to sixty feet high, abandoned shipping crates, broken down buses, old vans and trucks became home. Safety wasn’t a concern here, and the only way up or down were either climbing by hand or busted up ladders and steps.  All walks of life came here. Those who are out of work, those who can’t work, the ones who are rejected by everyone else, and those who were abandoned by everyone else. It was a hot spot for criminal activity due to the lack of care by the authorities. Tucked away on the outskirts of the third largest city in the nation, in the fourth smallest province in the nation, here you were as valued by society as dirt.  Coupled along with the New Depression which was sweeping the nation, these stacks kept growing; and not just in this city, but everywhere to. With such a large number of homeless and jobless one would think the government officials would be doing all that they could to fix it, but that’s where you’d be wrong. 

Virgil Black had been only seventeen when the Depression first stuck and he had to watch as everything around him fell apart. Any help the officials tried to offer only ended up backfiring and making it worse. He was a hopeful soul back then, believing that hard work would get him out of his situation, but now he knew better. Even if the Depression came to an end, he was never getting out of the Stacks, that was just a fact. His only real skill was making watches, and who had the money to buy those anymore?

Pulling to a stop, the truck arrived five blocks away from downtown, everyone climbed out and headed out for the day before the would return for their only ride home at seven. Except for him though, he had Patton to pick up later.

After a short goodbye the two friends went their separate ways and Virgil set out to the business district, which was the best place to sell his wares. Business men and collectors, and even those who just had extra money to spend were his target audience. He set up shack on the side of a large bank, displaying his watches and clocks on his cardboard box, covered by a sheet to make it look like a table. 

Fifteen minutes passed of Virgil calling passers to his 'table' without any luck before a rushed man in a dark blue suit and black rimmed glasses ran up to his table.

“Do you have the time?” He asked, obviously late for something.

“I do,” Virgil replied nonchalantly, trying to act like he wasn't desperate for his money, “For ten bronze.” 

The man gave him an incredulous look before begrudgingly pulling out his wallet with a heavy sigh. Virgil gladly took the paper money from the stranger and gestured to the table for him to choose whatever watch he wanted. The man looked down and grabbed the simplest watch on the table, a silver watch with a small roman numeral design and fake black leather band. Checking the time on the clock the man calmed down and gave a curt nod towards Virgil, heading on his way. 

Virgil watched him go for a moment, before turning back to the crowd, searching through the faces to spot anyone who looked like they had too much cash. Before long Virgil sold a brass wall clock for fifteen bronze too another sucker who got caught in his web.

 

…

 

Walking through the busy streets of the city center Logan Winchester walked up the steps of the head police precinct. He had called in to meet an old friend of his with what may be some very good news. Looking to the new watch he hadn’t been expecting to buy today, he saw that he was still five minutes early. Interesting… did he walk here from that stand in under a minute?

“Logan!” A loud and boisterous voice called from one of the many cubicles, drawing his attention away from the accessory.

“That’s Senator Winchester to you now.” He said to him as he walked over to meet him. “It’s good to see you, Roman.”

“Of course it is.” Roman smirked as he flexed pretentiously, “I haven’t seen you since you were elected last year.” 

“Yes, well, I’ve been kept busy by work as of late.” Logan stated to his friend since college. “And that is precisely why I came here.” 

The smirk on Roman’s face began to fall away as confusion over took his expression, not understanding what he mean. Logan gestures for him to follow after him as he walks away to a quiet corner where they could talk without being eavesdropped on. Once there, Logan reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file and handed in over to Roman. When he looked in all he saw was his, rather impressive, track record, and the record of what he assumed was one of Logan's subordinates.

“I’m losing faith in my head of security. They were very loyal to the last senator, who had vastly different ideas from I. I am in need of someone I can put faith in to help me lower the crime rates in the province.”

Roman looked through the records, which had appeared to have been thoroughly marked up and read through. He stared at his friend in a mix of shock and excitement. He had always hoped for a promotion sometime, but he was expecting something like deputy chief. This was completely beyond what he had ever hoped for.

“Are you asking me what I think you are?” He asked with a childlike glee. Logan gave a small chuckle. Roman's youthful mind and tenacity was just what he was looking for to help him fix the society's state.

“Indeed, Roman. Will you become my new head of security?”

“YES!” Roman shouted before quickly covering his mouth, “I mean, I’d be honored... Senator Winchester.”

“That was a joke, please don’t call me that.”

In anticipation that Roman would run around proclaiming his promotion to the entire faculty and maybe even the whole city, Logan explained in detail all the necessary steps he’d have to take before he could take office. Most of the procedure had already been taken care of, but it would still be one to two weeks before Roman would officially be the new head of security. Roman nodded along as Logan explained these things to him, yet he couldn’t stop bouncing in his seat like a kid who had eaten too many sweets. Seeing that he wasn’t really paying attention to the instructions, Logan sighed and decided to change the subject.

“How about an early lunch? I’ll treat you to it.” Logan offered, standing back up from his spot on the bench.

“Sounds good, but I wouldn’t say it’d be early. It’s fifteen ‘till noon.” Roman responded, pointing to the plain clock above the main doors.

“Wait, but I thought-” Logan looked down at his watch and saw that the arms haven’t moved since it’s purchase, meaning he had been late all along. Moving the dial on the side Logan set it to the correct time before clicking it down, setting the arms in motion. “He didn’t set it.”

“Who didn’t?” Roman asked, standing up and taking a look at the watch on his friend's wrist. “Where’d you get that?”

“A merchant on the street sold it to me for ten bronze when I asked for the time.” Logan recalled to the, hopefully, soon to be former police officer.

“Ten bronze?! That’s worth more like five!” Roman exclaimed, becoming angered at the fact that Logan was swindled by a street rat.

“Come now, It wasn’t too much. At least he didn’t go as far ask to ask for a silver.” Logan said as he led them out the large, double doors of the precinct and down the street to the tram station to take them to lunch.

“First, that’s a horrible comparison, and second you don’t know if he even had a license to sell that! It could have been stolen merchandise for all you know-”

“Roman.”

“Now a hooligan is on the loose in the streets practically  _ stealing  _ from people-”

“Roman!”

“And selling black market watches on the block to poor innocent workers and using the money to do who knows what-”

_ “Roman!”  _ Logan grabbed his shoulder, finally shutting him up from his rambling, and pointed over across the street at a lone man in a patchwork hoodie handing a pocket watch over to an old woman. “He’s right there.” 

Roman turned his head in the direction of his hand and saw the despicable man in action, clipping the probably fake gold chain onto the woman’s coat and handing the hand held clock over, greedily taking the money from an innocent.

“Well then we have to stop him!” Roman declared as he ran across the street through traffic without a second thought.

“Roman wait!” Logan shouted after him but fell on deaf ears. Letting out a groan, Logan ran over to the nearest crosswalk and hurried to catch up with the man before he got too reckless and did something stupid.  'Why did I choose him, again?' He questioned in his head.

Roman dodge the bustling cars on the road and the swarming people on the sidewalk gracefully and bolted for the stand, slowing himself down as he got closer. Soon enough he was calmly walking up to the watch man, feigning interest in buying. 

“How much are these may I ask?” He asked with false curiosity, picking up the only watch left to look at it closer. It was strangely nice looking, nicer than the one Logan bought, definitely not worth ten bronze though. But it didn’t look stolen, if it was it’d be worth more, homemade maybe? 

“Twenty bronze.” The man said from his seat of the city bank steps.

“Twenty?” Roman echoed, raising his eyebrow. ‘That’s even more that what had cost Logan.’ “Surly this is worth much less?”

“Welp, times are tough, gotta buy bread somehow.” The man shrugged, obviously ignorant of who he was talking to.

Roman eyed him up a down with a grimace, looking over his so called stand, that he could tell was actually just a box. There is no way what this man doing was legal, and even if it was, it's obvious that this man is from the Stacks, which means he must be up to no good.

“Well, I hope you wouldn’t mind showing me you’re papers?” He asked cockily, whipping out his badge from his inside coat pocket and practically shoving it in the man’s face. Instantly the guy lost his relaxed composure and sat up straight, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, panic evident all over his face. The shit grin Roman wore only grew bigger at the man’s frightened reaction. Cat's out of the bag. “I’m guessing that’s a no, then?”

Roman reached behind back for the spare pair of handcuffs, hidden by the tail of his coat, that he always kept on hand, but was instead met with a smack in the face as the man hastily stood up and threw the entire stand in his face before making his get away. Roman tried to get up to go after him but ended up getting the sheet stuck on his head. By the time he finally got the damn thing off his head the crook was long gone, escaping into the thick crowd. 

The low, clearing cough behind him made Roman jump and spin around. Logan stood there with his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised, looking expectantly for a good excuse.

“You’re not gonna change your mind, right?”

 

…

 

The kitchen had always been a hectic place for a chef, with demanding customers and fast paced orders it was a high stress inducing environment. However to him it was a second home. Even though Patton wasn’t technically a chef, he did know how to cook. His mother had overworked herself most of his life and ended up falling ill when he was ten, so he had to take over the cleaning and cooking duties. He became really good at it overtime and his mother even said he’d be able to become a high end chef one day. So that’s what he worked towards over the next fifteen years. Yet, despite his skill, his background just wasn’t impressive enough to get him the position, so he settled for garbage boy instead. 

Even if it wasn’t his dream job, it was close enough, as long as he was in a kitchen he’d be happy. He still got to use the kitchen after he finished his shift to bring food back home to his friends and family, even though the trade off to do so was a percentage out of his paycheck.

Speaking of, his shift should be over in a few minutes, he should start preparing the food. What should he make tonight? There were a lot of tomatoes, peppers, and cheese leftover, he could make stuffed peppers!

“Clean these stack rat.” A voice, accompanied by a tub full of dirty plates commanded. It was the sou chef Nathaniel Briggs, one of his superiors, and not the only one in this kitchen who didn’t want him here.

“I’m sorry Briggs, but my shift just ended.” Patton tried to tell him but was quickly silenced.

“And you were just about to dirty our kitchen with your filthy paws! The very least you could do is clean these dishes!” Patton shrunk back and nodded, gingerly taking the dishes from him and placing them in the sink. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up for me.” Nathaniel told him as he left him alone in the kitchen.

This wasn’t the first time one of the chefs forced him to do their work. It wasn’t a secret that almost the entire staff hated him either. Everyone at the _Pájaro Rico_   were either high end or upper mid end, Patton was the only one there who came from the Stacks. He didn’t let it bother him too much though, even if he isn’t payed of treated equally, his mother was a proud Stacker, and so was he.

On the dot as usual, the back door to the restaurant was opened and in came fellow Stacker and Patton’s best friend, Virgil. Virgil would always accompany him home, since he could never make it in time to catch Donna’s truck transit. Although it looked like Virgil would have to wait a little longer tonight.

“You doing Nathaniel’s work again, huh?” He asked rhetorically as he walked up. Patton nodded sadly, not looking up since he already knew what face he was making. It was the one he always made when anyone treated them bad because of their status as Stackers. “Common I’ll clean, you cook.”

“If my boss thinks I’m not working he’ll get upset.” Patton murmured, rinsing off a plate and setting it in the drying rack. 

“You got off twenty minutes ago Pat, this is work without pay, let me do it.” Virgil shot back and took Patton’s hands out of the soapy water and replaced them with his. “The only thing you should be working on is a nice hot meal for everyone back home.”

Patton grinned at him and let out a soft giggle, conceding to Virgil’s wishes and getting to work on what he had planned. Patton went over to the tub of unused, half used, or messed up dishes to see what he could salvage before they were thrown away. Some lettuce leafs, a couple of diced tomatoes, some poorly cut orange peppers and a bit of sour cream. Patton smiled brightly at what he was able to save and began to prep the peppers and dice the lettuce. By the time Virgil had finished washing, Patton had finished and slid the stuffed peppers into the oven to cook for ten minutes. When those ten minutes were up, the dishes were put away and the peppers were placed in to-go boxes. With a final sweep of the place, Patton locked up the restaurant and then headed out. 

“So how did sales go today?” Patton asked as they walked down to the tram station. The tram didn’t go all the way out to the Stacks and cost a lot more than Donna’s truck, but it was there only option this late at night.

“Less and less people are buying these days." Virgil sighed in defeat, "It seems like the Depression is starting to reach the upper mid end, before long the entire nations gonna go to shi- crap.” Virgil confided in him, correcting himself when Patton gave him that glare. 

“I’m sure prosperity is just around the corner! Look at us, were doing just fine.” Patton said brightly, trying to be optimistic.

“We live in the Stacks, Pat.” Virgil stated plainly, distaste evident in his words.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Patton asked seriously, challenging him. Virgil stayed quiet and bought his ticket from the machine before getting on. The air was thick with that question looming over their heads, quieting their conversation. 

Looking out the window Patton saw the large silhouettes of crudely assembled towers that he had been born and raised in. While he was not ashamed of his background, he could not deny that it was not a place any child should be raised. The danger and impoverishment all told the same story for all who lived there. 

Desperation.


	2. Chapter 2

Patton still remembers the very first day he met Virgil. He had been seventeen years of age and working in a bakery in the higher, low end of the city in district thirteen, just before the Stacks. He was living alone in an abandoned school bus, where he was still living today. After one of his workshifts had ended he had come home to find an eleven year old boy hiding under one of the seats. He wore a dirty pair of overalls covered in holes and no shirt or shoes. 

When Patton tried to get close to him he hissed and crawled further away under the seats. There was something almost feral about the boy, as if he had been raised by animals rather than humans. It had taken several days, but Patton was eventually able to get him out from under the seats and fed him some old stale bread, with the moldy bits ripped off.

It turned out that the local gang had been after him for not paying his safety fees and he had ran away and hid to avoid them. Wanting to help, Patton gave the money to Virgil to help him clear his debt, which had been his entire paycheck.

From there on Patton had decided to take the young boy under his wing and sort of adopt him in a way. Right away he knew that Virgil had been without his parents for some time, how long Patton wouldn’t know for years to come, so he decided to take their place as his parental figure. Patton stitched and patched up Virgil's overalls, washing them as well. When he had gotten the money, he took him out to buy the first shirt he had owned in years. Seeing the joy of a child for something so simple as a piece of clothing warmed his heart beyond comparison. From then on Patton had made it his mission from then on to give Virgil a good life, one without wanting and hardship.

He got a second job and worked tiring hours, exhausting himself from the labor, but he didn’t give in. Patton was constantly looking for an apartment or studio home, nothing to fancy, but a home that a good future could be built upon. For months he had his eyes on a small one bedroom and bathroom apartment for sale in the tenth district. There was a school close by where Virgil could attend, a small park was three blocks away where he could play, it was perfect. After saving his money for years locked under a floorboard in the bus, hidden by a newspaper carpet, as robberies were practically a daily frequent in the Stacks, Patton had raised up enough money to buy the place.

Then the Depression hit.

Prices everywhere skyrocketed. A loaf of bread became four times the price it once had been. Because of this the gangs raised their prices as well. Patton had drained practically all of his savings in a matter of months, and the apartment was long out of his reach. The bakery where he used to work went out of business, and Patton was left with only one job that was only able to feed him one meal a day after taxes and gang payments were taken care of. 

The life that was once just within arms reach, was now a whole world apart. Yet, Virgil didn’t seem to mind that they couldn’t get the apartment and was happy to live with him in that rusty, old bus. Patton was never able to tell if he was just being strong for him, or if he actually was okay with it.

However, hearing the words that he had spoken last night, Patton knew that he wasn’t okay with it.

 

Coming back to his bus, the rows of seats long since removed and sold for a little extra cash, Patton noticed that the twins were already asleep, so he simply put their food down on a small three-legged table, and went to sleep himself. Virgil had gone straight to his own crate once they had arrived, taking his food from Patton with a smile and a thank you. He had moved out from the bus two years ago, claiming he wanted to give Patton his space, but he doubted that was the real reason.

After Virgil had left him alone in the school bus, Patton had decided to adopt these twins when their father had been wrongly put in prison for an accused crime he never committed. He hadn’t know their father all that well, but he knew for a fact that he would never kill someone. So until he got out, he would take care of the boys. If he ever got out.

 

…

 

Once again he had taken another hounding at the latest press conference by the reporters who held little faith in him and his abilities, and demanded he create change practically overnight. But from what Logan had learned from his years in politics is that no resolutions is so easily made. The election that had won him the seat as senator had been a close one, and a near fifty percent of the province still didn’t believe someone so young could do anything for them. In spite of that, the depression had been raging for almost four years with no sign of ending, in fact it had been growing under the policies of a government composed almost completely by older people who have never face an economic downturn in their lives. All they had ever known was strict rules and prosperity, and now, because of their fixed mindset, they were driving the nation into the ground. 

The fact that he had replaced much of his staff with young minds had upset many of the other senators and position holders. Many of his colleagues saw him as too radical, but he was determined to make a difference, starting in his province. As long as he didn’t give them a firm reason to remove him from office, he’ll take any necessary steps to fix this situation.

Logan worked behind his desk for hours, trying to find ways to bring down the jobless rate, looking through proposed bills and deciding whether or not to bring them before the senate. Many of the bills were a fool’s dream, unrealistic and improbable, yet some had promise.

“Sir?” A voice called through his desk speaker. Logan pushed the red button on the device down to respond.

“Yes, Johnathan?” 

“You’re new head of security has arrived in the lobby. Would you like me to show him to his office?” His secretary asked.

“No, no, I shall do it myself.” He said to the machine, standing from his chair. “Notify him that I’m on my way down.”

“Yes, sir.”

It had been a long two weeks, what with transfering Roman from the police over to his office building, dismissing the old head of security, and dealing with backfire from the media for doing so. He could use a minute to step out for a bit.

Escaping his suffocating office, Logan strode down to the bottom floor secretary’s desk, where Roman had been waiting with a large cardboard box of personal items. Unless Logan was hallucinating, the box looked awfully a lot like the one clockmaker had thrown at him. 

As he walked over, the regal, former, cop raised his head at the sound of footsteps and stood to greet him.

“Welcome Roman, I trust you have everything you need?” Logan said to him.

“Yep, and more!” Roman responded with a large goofy grin, taking a small, rubber stress toy out of the box and giving it a light squeeze, causing it to squeak. Logan rolled his eyes and turned to the elevators to take them up to where the awaiting office was located a floor below his. 

Ever since college, Roman has had the eccentricity and energy of an adolescent. With Roman being a first year studying for a Criminology major and Logan being a third year with an almost complete Social Science and Economics major when they first met, he had found his behavior to be unusual and had expected it to just be a phase of excitement for his entry into University. Nevertheless, throughout the rest of their college experience together, and their friendship away from work, Roman had always been like this.

However, that is not all there was to the man. Logan has witnessed first hand the professional side of Roman. He is determined and relentless when presented with a case. Roman’s skills and resources far out match even his own, and if rubbed the wrong way, Roman could be a troublesome foe. These are the qualities that were needed in the city right now. The crime rate of the capital city was at an all time high, and the second highest in the nation. Their province have been the laughing stock in the Senate for years and the police force has been labeled as incompetent. It was Logan’s job, now Roman’s, to turn that around.

Arriving on the fourth floor Logan walked out into a large, opened hallway, five half-glass offices on each side, with ten half moon desks in the center outside each door. The senator led his friend and new colleague to the third office down on the right. 

“This,” He waved his arm around the room, bringing him in, “Is your new office.” The room was already furnish with a large, executive desk and armchair, a smaller chair to the side, a wide filing cabinet, and bookshelf. The only thing left for Roman to do was unpack, settle in, and get to work.

“To your left is the Secretary of the Province, Brian Lee, to the right is Treasurer Selene Carter, and your personal assistant,” Logan gestured to the woman at the desk outside the office, “Is Diana Meyers.” Roman nodded along and peered around the room, admiring the open space and glass walls with it’s blinds drawn for privacy. “I gave your assistant all the important files you’ll be needing left over from the last head of security, they’ll deliver them to you when you’ve settled in.” Roman tread over to his new desk to set down his box of personals, seemingly getting comfortable, “If that’s all, then I shall take my leave-”

“Logan.” Roman spoke up, turning back to face his new superior, and old friend. “Thank you, for this I mean.”

Logan loosed for a moment, letting go of his serious composure and allowing himself to relax. He flashed Roman a nod and a smile, saying “You’re very welcome.”, before turning to head back to his own office, leaving Roman to unpack his belongings and start work whenever he’s ready and able.

As he walked back to the elevators and further, several other officers and lower workers greeted him and paid their respects. Offering compliments or offers of assistance.

Shortly after becoming the senator for the province of Flor, Logan had learned that this would be a nearly everyday occurance. Many, but not all, co-workers, colleagues, and subordinates would kiss up to him in hope of a raise, promotion, or good faith. Often times Logan wouldn’t know who he could truly put his trust in, who was being earnest with him or who was being fake. It seems that the more influence one has, the more they tend to become used. Logan needed someone he could trust, Roman was a start, but it wasn’t enough yet.

“Sir, your butler just called,” Johnathan announced as he walked past the secretary’s desk, “He wanted to let you know that your advertisement for a new personal chef was successfully placed in the newspaper.”

“Thank you, Johnathan, keep up the work.” He replied stoically and entered his office, closing the door behind him. 

The piles of paper worked stood menacingly on his desk, appearing to have grown during his short breather. With a tired sigh and a grimace, Logan sat down in his leather seat and got back into the toil, working late again as usual.

 

…

 

The city streets of the eleventh district were buzzing as usual with heavy machinery and labor, as it was the main industrial district of the city. Rock was being cut, wood was being chopped, metal was being melted down; all the heavy types of industry were hard at work making noise. Of all the fourteen districts of Flor’s capital, Fauna, the eleventh was the best place to find, or steal, scrap metal and material for his clocks. 

Currently, Virgil was dumpster diving outside a silver and steel manufacturing lot, finding nuts and bolts that he could make use of. This had been a common thing for him to do ever since he was little. Granted, it was searching for food that he used to climb into trash cans, but the thousands of repeated dives in the garbage nulled his disgust for it a long time ago. Besides, everything was free here.

Whilst digging through the thrown away trash he found a handle sticking out from a torn bag. Pulling the handle out, Virgil was delighted to find a professionally made power saw with a broken cord. If he could get the right supplies he could probably fix the broken cord.

“Hey! Get outta here!” A booming voice roared over the sound of machines. Whipping his head up, Virgil saw a security guard running his way. 

Ripping his backpack open and shoving the saw inside, Virgil climbed out the dumpster and bolted away, the security guard hot on his heels. Trying to make his escape he lead them into an alley where he knew a sewer opening was hidden under a pile of empty beer bottles. Once there, he pushed the bottles to the side, and jumped down into the colverless manhole, pulling a nearby trash bag over to hide the sewer opening. Virgil made sure not to make a noise until he heard the security guard leave. 

Footsteps came into the alley before halting to a stop, there was some pacing before the footsteps started to retreat. 

“Filthy dumpster rat.” The man cursed as he left.

Virgil waited a few moments more before climbing up the ladder, peeking his head out to scan the area before he crawled out completely. With one last look around Virgil left the alley and headed down the street.

That wasn’t the first time he had gotten in trouble with the security, and it most certainly won’t be the last. People around here didn’t like scavengers roaming around in their trash and would often chase them away with a metaphorical broom.

But at least it was safer to do so in this district than the other ones. The twelfth and eleventh districts were the closest to the Stacks, the fourteenth district, and therefore weren’t as funded as the others, making their security and police force easier to get around. But the closer you get to the city center, and the further from the Stacks, the police force is doubled, then tripled, and you can get arrested just for looking at a richman wrong. Virgil once spent the night in jail for ‘causing’ a man in a hurry to drop his briefcase and spill his papers.

That’s just what life was like for those who came from the Stacks, and you could always tell when someone did. Stackers all had a distinct look: dirt poor. If you had holes in your clothes, dirt caked on your skin, old worn out shoes, or no shoes at all, it was a safe bet to say where you came from. However, out of all that, there was another trait that was more noticeable than all the rest: a loss of hope. In the eyes of all its residents there was familiar look that was held in each one, no matter if it was covered, denied, or accepted, that look came from a knowledge that there was no way out. The depression may have struck the nation three years ago, but it had been thriving in the Stacks since their creation.

The original economical idea for the Stacks was to move poverty into a singular, concentrated area with a small percentage of the population to keep it there. But as the years passed, that percentage began to grow beyond its initial barriers by building upwards, and the depression began to spread as an infecting virus. Now, because this abomination made to fix the economy was now breaking it, the rest of society turned on the stackers as the cause for their damnation. 

Virgil had been born fifty years after its creation and was now living through the rear ass of the worst economic crisis in recorded history, yet is treated as less than a person by those whose only suffering was a smaller paycheck. 

The police force were especially harder on his kind, but only when they’re caught in the center of the city. Another main function of the Stacks was to hold the majority of crime so that the upper ends could sleep better at night, while he has to use five bolted locks on the doors of his crate just to avoid being robbed or killed in plain daylight. A crime such as stealing a loaf of bread could earn you a year in prison if it’s done in the city, but murder is completely overlooked in his backyard. Who knows how long Virgil would have been behind bars if that shit eating cop caughting him for operating a stand without a license.

This is the sort of injustice he had to live through on a daily basis simply because he was born on the wrong side of the tracks. The new senator elected last year promised change for all as his slogan, but Virgil knew what he truly meant. He, just as all the others, would help and listen to only the rich fucks of the city, leaving Stack rats such as himself to beg for their scraps. The government didn’t care for them, and there was no way the officials would allow any of them leave their hell. That’s just the way the system worked and that’s how it’d stay. No one was brave enough to try and change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter yay!  
> Just so y'all know, the nation they're living in is a republic based on a single senate with a chancellor. The province Logan is the senator for is the second smallest in the nation, but has the most problems. I don't know much about government and politics, so excuse me if I get anything wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

“You want to make a law to supervise business regulation?” Logan repeated in question, taken aback by Roman’s first suggestion as Chief of Security. “I’m afraid this isn’t really your realm of duty, Roman.”

“Oh come on, Logan,” Roman pleaded, “It would benefit public businesses if street markets that don’t checkout are shut down. Here- I already ran the numbers.” Roman took out a folder and handed it over. “More and more businesses are failing because of lack of customers, because all of them are going these markets, which are able to offer lower prices because they don’t have to worry about rent, electricity bills, and so on. If we do this, then consumer rates will rise again by about five percent and businesses will stop failing.”

Logan looked over the pages of work, reading through his plan for regulations and calculations. Roman practically held his breath as he did so in anticipation. The plan itself seemed pretty solid, and would even provide a few new available jobs. Yes there were some holes that needed filling, but he was confident that it would work out in their favor. However, there was something else Roman worried about the senator noticing as he waited for him to finish reviewing his plan layout.

“Roman,” Logan spoke, his voice firm, but concerned, “Is this about that street merchant who sold me the watch?” Roman said nothing and looked away to the wall in a small bit of shame, or embarrassment, “The plan itself is thoughtful and may indeed provide some minor improvements, but as my Chief of Security I can’t have you abusing your position to settle personal scores.”

“This isn’t a personal score!” Roman denied fervently, Logan eyed him disbelievingly, making him deflate slightly. “Okay it sort of was in the beginning, but then I realized how much this could help with the economic situation.”

Logan sighed, standing from his seat he walk around his desk to stand in front of Roman, though he was an inch taller than his old friend, his presence was imitating enough to make Roman step down on this one. This was an honest gift in most arguments with the spritely man, as he was usually thick-headed and stubborn.

“I know you want to help Roman, and I will take this up with my lieutenant before deciding to bring this to the council.” Roman’s smile grew before he forced it back down, trying desperately not to do a little dance, “However, from now on I want you to only work on the security end of the spectrum, leave the state of the economy to the Labor Commissioner, Treasurer and I.”

Roman eagerly nodded his head agreement. “Okay, I swear I’ll stick to my post.” He promised with a grin, saluting for emphasis. 

“At ease soldier,” Logan chuckled, “Thank you for your work, Roman. Just make sure to do your own from now on.”

“Sure thing, bob.”

“Logan.”

“I know.” Roman joked, giving a two finger salute before walking out of the, frankly much nicer and larger, office to head back upstairs and waved to Jonathan as he walked by his desk, but got ignored.

When he finally made it back to his own desk, he sat down sloppily with a heavy, relieved sigh. Not thirty seconds went by before his assistant, Diana, brought him this afternoon’s workload. From the few days that he’s known the tall, older woman Roman could tell that she was rather strict and hardworking, not taking kindly to his more relaxed and sporadic nature. Though, Roman like to think she warming up to him. Her dedication to the job was something he respected, she kept him on task and helped him when he didn’t understand something, so he appreciate her help and got to work when she told him to, but not without a little whining. Although Roman didn’t know how productive he could be when he still felt like he was on cloud nine after having his regulation proposal accepted.

To be truthful, Roman didn’t think that Logan would approve of his idea that easily. He was almost fairly certain that the senator would want to rewrite the entire bill himself, maybe he still would. Roman had worked on the plan over the past three days, pulling two all-nighters to gather data and research. Sure, he had only been in office for five days and his first policy was a bit strange, but so much good could be done if his idea came to fruition.

Logan had told him that this wasn’t his department of decision making, but Roman thought it most definitely was. Any illegal activity was to be contained under his watch, be it theft, assault, murder, or illegally running a booth. All crime, big or small, was the same to him and each criminal deserved the same fate for their heinous acts.

How ironic was it that the idea for this new law came from a run in he had with a criminal? Roman almost thought of not arresting him if he ever saw him again as a thank you. Almost.

 

…

 

Patton liked to read the paper every day, keeping up with the day to day news on his commute to work and during his lunch break. That’s why Virgil would get him a copy each day as a small gift. He told him that he got them whilst rummaging around in the dumpster, meaning Patton was usually behind on current news by about a few days to a week, but he didn’t mind all that much.

Currently it was Patton’s lunch break, which was about twenty minutes long and the only break he had for the entire day, but that was fine. Since he didn’t have the money to go out to eat, and was refused service from stores in this higher district, his food was entirely comprised of food thrown out after the breakfast rush and water from the bathroom sink. 

He sat on the slow step that led to the alleyway by the dumpsters, where he had gotten his lunch from. The sun stood high above his head, beating warmth onto his exposed arms and neck, most likely giving him a sunburn. About ten feet away, the city street was bustling with life of citizens on they’re way to lunch, out shopping, or whatever they could do with their money. If Patton hadn’t known better he would have thought he was in another world. You could barely tell that depression was even happening here in the fourth district. There was no homeless or beggers, no foreclosure signs on buildings, and no sign of hunger.

He spent his free time reading last week’s issue of the  _ Faun Inquisitor _ newspaper, looking over the cartoonist page first before moving on. Patton loved the cartoons that were submitted and kept the page from every issue so he could later read them to the twins, Peter and Mark.

Drifting away from the silly doodles and storylines, Patton turned the page over and noted the job advertisements page, one of them catching his eye.  **Personal Chef Wanted** . Patton read the header in interest before he remembered the fact that this paper was a week old and the job was probably already taken. He quickly moved on and turned the page again, but was dumbfounded by the bolded words of the first article that took up half a page.

 

**Flor’s Newest Senator Terrorizes Our Businesses with New Bill**

On Aug. fifth Senator Logan Winchester brought proposed a new bill before Flor’s Provincial Senate that would create a biannually regulation of all businesses, and a biweekly check of all street markets in our province. Originally suggested by his appointed Chief of Security, Senator Winchester has pushed for this bill to become law as soon as by the end of the month. The final decision has yet to be made over this new possible law, and another meeting is set for Aug. 12th. Is Winchester being too radical? When asked by our reporters, Macy Lee said-

 

Patton closed the paper. He knew that a lot of people thought that the new senator was radical and he wasn’t everyone’s favorite person, but he never expected the senator to propose something like this. In fact, if he had had the ability, Patton would have voted for him. During his campaign he spoke passionately about changing the way the government did things and bettering society. He had always hoped he meant to fix the stackers as well, but this new law would only serve to hurt those whom he knew. If this happened then all the stackers who sold goods on the street, worked for small businesses who couldn’t afford these regulations, and others whose births were never registered because their parents couldn’t afford a hospital, which were every single one of them, would lose their jobs.

Poverty would increase in the Stacks, and Patton would definitely lose his job. His employer hadn’t legally registered him as an employee, that way they could pay him less than the others and refuse him the same rights and treatment the others had and get away with it. If this passed, not only would Patton never be able to work on the surface again, but it also meant that Virgil wouldn’t be able to run his booths anymore. 

This was the worst idea the government had in awhile. 

“Sanders!” A booming voice rang viciously from inside the kitchen, jolting Patton out of his heavy thoughts. He looked at the pocket watch Virgil had made for him and noticed that he had missed the end of his break. Hopping up, he quickly gathered his things and ran back inside, being met with a wave of angry shouting and hateful glares. 

 

…

 

This was possibly one of the best ideas they’ve had for a while. While he couldn’t take all the credit for this bill, Logan was proud of his board for pushing this to pass. All that was needed is a three fourths vote for it to pass the provincial senate and bring it to law in his province. So far Logan was able to get two of the four provincial representatives to agree, he just needed one more. Adriana and Winston were both hard headed in their beliefs and wouldn’t budge easily. Perhaps if he made a compromise and reworked the bill a little more, then Winston might agree to it and cast his vote in favor.

Decision making was especially hard to do in a province as small as Flor, which was the smallest in the nation. Typically a province had a representative for every section it held, what anywhere from eight to eighteen, separated by terrain and population. If it wasn’t for Flor’s ridiculously high population, then the province would probably only have one, at the most two, representatives. If that were the case then almost everything or nothing would be passed.

However, Logan was grateful for the help his coworkers granted to him. The five of their minds put together was the fast he’s ever been able to get anything done rather than at any of the federal summits. 

That’s why he was so fervent to get this to pass, because it’s the only chance he has to do so. He firmly believed that this could only benefit them. It would create more government jobs, take down fraud businesses, and bring more money into open circulation rather than under the radar hands. Logan can’t raise the taxes without backlash, but the government doesn’t have the money to provide for the resources the people are demanding. Logan will most likely have to force them into debt by spending what they didn’t have in order to get money circulating through the public. It was hard enough when a fraction of the money is missing because people are personally holding onto it instead of putting it in the banks. 

He needed to create more jobs, this was a start, but need something more. 

 

…

 

It was now twilight, the sun had visibly disappeared from the sky and the leaking light being the only sign that it had once been there. Patton busied himself with the large stack of dishes before him after the dinner rush came and went. He hummed a sweet tune to himself and tapped his foot as he set the cleaned plates into the drying rack, moving on to the bowls. There were few customers left in the restaurant, so some of the chefs left to go home to their, probably, fabulous houses.

Patton sang softly as he let himself imagine if he were in their shoes. He’d be the pastry chef, or maybe even the sou chef of a nice restaurant, cooking his heart out all day. Once it all ended he’d drive home in his very own car, arriving home to see Virgil and the boys at the table, working on their studies. Even though he’d most likely be tired he’d still make them a feast, letting them eat their heart out. Afterwards they’d all sit around a television, watching some kind of comedy show until late. Then, when he realized they were all asleep, he’d help them to bed, tuck them in, and kiss them goodnight. Oh what a perfect life would that be?

“Sanders,” A voice called from behind him, surprising him out of his thoughts once again. Turning around swiftly, Patton failed to notice that he was still holding the faucet extension on spay and ended up soaking whoever had just called him, his boss.

“I-I’m so sorry sir! I-it was an a-accident, I swear!” He quickly grabbed a drying rag, offering it to him, “He-here, let me-”

“You’re fired.” His boss silenced him.

Patton shut down immediately, freezing in his spot, shocked and still in the action of processing what he had just been told.

“What..?” The cleaner murmured, not yet fully comprehending the situation. His boss sneered at him with a scoff.

“What, to dull to understand me?” He mocked, “A new law is about to pass, and if you’re found here then they’ll send out pest control. So scurry along because you no longer work here.”

“Bu-but sir-”

“Don’t question me!” The older man bellowed, “Remember you’re place, stack rat.”

Patton flinched back, lowering his head as he was yelled at and insulted. He couldn’t lose this job; it was all he had to take care of his family.

“P-please, I have a family.” The shaking and scared man begged quietly in desperation. 

“Do you think I care? A family of rats only increases the infestation. All you pests are good for is cheap labor, now you’re good for nothing! So why don’t you all starve and free the rest of us of you pitiful, worthless stains!”

Not allowing Patton anymore room to space, his old boss ripped the faucet extension out of his grasp and fired a stream of water in his face. Patton coughed and tried to get away, ending up being chased out of the restaurant and out into the alleyway. The other chefs, waiters, and waitresses who were watched him as he was chased out by water, laughing as he went. Nathaniel Briggs, especially, watched on with immense satisfaction. 

When he made it into the street the door was slammed behind him and cheers could be heard from the other side. Patton just looked down at the ground, sitting on the curb by the road, lost on what to do.

He just lost the only thing that allowed him to bring food to the table. Now what was he supposed to find work? No one else would hire a stacker like him, it was basically illegal to. He was powerless to do anything about it.

“Patton?” A curious voice sounded from a few feet away. Looking up from the pavement, Patton saw Virgil walking closer to him, cautiously at first, but more urgent when he noticed that the man was soaking wet and crying. He ran over and fell to his knees at his side, holding him by the shoulders as he inspected him worryingly. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I-I-I g-got I got- I…” Patton could form a coherent sentence, crying too harshly and too shaken to think properly.

Virgil took his adoptive father into his arms and helped him off the ground, Letting him lean into him as they walked back home. Patton didn’t want to tell Virgil what had happened, about the new bill or him losing his job. The poor boy already had so much to worry about giving his circumstance; he didn’t want to add anymore to his plate. But it seemed like he no longer had a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take a while for Logan and Roman's characters to develop, especially for the latter. But all in due time. Sorry that Virgil was barely in this chapter, he'll have a much bigger role in the next one.  
> Also, if this story seems a little too political at times, forgive me, I'm not trying to compare it with what's happening today, I'm just making up a scenario.  
> Side note: I started senior year last week so I won't be able to post as often, so please excuse my absences.  
> Love you all, thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

The streets were desolate on the far Northeast corner of the thirteenth district, buildings haunted by the image of their previous businesses lay hollow and abandoned, closed down years ago in the early stages of the depression, before it had become nationwide. Life in the east side of the thirteenth district was quiet and empty, and the home of an old buddy of Virgil’s.

Walking to a narrow alleyway in between an old hotel and a crumbling apartment building, Virgil walked down to an outdoor basement opening, covered by flimsy wooden doors. Pulling them open, he walked down into the dimly lit space, closing the doors behind him. The room in its entirety was quite large, but was sectioned off into multiple ‘rooms’ by curtains and stacked boxes. To the left of the room was a large tunnel opening that lead into the cities underground network system that was built about one hundred and fifty years ago. Only a few number of people could find their way through the maze of the over three hundred square mile tunnels. Virgil, along with his... friend knew how to maneuver through them.

A quick scan of the room told Virgil that he was off duty at the moment, most likely in his office. The office was actually make shift hoarding room hidden by ceiling high stacks of boxes, and just as he had thought, the man he was looking for was busy with another one of his new toys.

Knocking lightly on the cardboard wall, Virgil grabbed the attention of the man at the table, making him  frantically jump up and whip a gun from its position oh his hip. When he noticed who it was a large smile grew on his face as he put the weapon away.

“Virgey! Virgey! Virge!” The man chanted in excitement, lifting the sun glasses from his face to look at him properly. Opening his arms wide, the young man, only two years older that Virgil, pulled him into a large hug. Virgil chuckled gave his back a pat before pushing him off.

“Hey, Remy.” He greeted, making the other whine.

“Really, that’s all you have to say when you haven’t come to visit in months?” Remy cried, pouting and crossing his arms.

“Sorry,” the twenty year old apologized, taking his backpack off to pull out the saw that he had found last week. “I was wondering if you had a new cord to replace the old one?”

The older man took the saw into his hands and set it down on his table under his light, lifting his sunglasses up atop his head and pulled out a magnifying glass to inspect it closer. He looked over the torn wires, taking a pair of tweezers and pliers to cut off pieces of damaged wire and, removing the rubber cover to access the clean wires. He worked on the cord for several minutes, seemingly forgetting Virgil was even there. Virgil didn’t mind though, he knew that Remy was easily taken away into his own little world when he was tinkering. That’s why he brought the saw to him in the first place, because if he couldn’t fix it, then Remy was the only one who could.

“Don’t need a new cord girl,” Remy grinned without looking up, acknowledging his presence one again. “Because… I… just… fixed it!” He cheered, holding the saw up as if it were a trophy.

“Whoa, really?” He gasped sarcastically, smirking and giving him a small nudge on the shoulder with his fist. “Knew you could do it.”

“Of course, you’re looking at the best repairman in all of Faun!” He said with a light twirl, setting the saw back down on the table, whipping his sunglasses back over his eyes dramatically. “So, sell or keep?”

“Sell, there’s no use for a saw of this caliber in clockmaking.” Virgil replied, slipping his backpack closed. He quickly discussed a price with Remy, taking out the cost of repair, before he pocketed four silver dollars, the equivalent to forty bronze dollars, which was the most he made in possible years.

Remy Darling ran the black market throughout more than a third of the city; selling stolen, illegally made, and fixed merchandise for a hefty profit. Much of the stuff he sells was fixed and made to look expensive by himself. Remy didn’t personally steal, but he did turn a blind eye to his sellers who sold him stolen items. That’s how Virgil got into business with Remy in the beginning, selling whatever he stole off of stands or from stores, and, as he grew older, from homes. Over the years, before he stopped his stealing business, Virgil learned that the market owner was not someone to get on the bad side of. His influence is the second most powerful he’s ever known, he could buy out your entire life before the end of the week. The clockmaker, and former thief, had always trodden when they first became partners, carefully wording his phrases whenever they were in the same room. Even now that they had some sort friendship Virgil was still cautious.

“So how’s your little business been?” Remy asked, pulling them out of the office and out to the common area, where a couch, radio, and small tv with a DVD player sat around the room. In all his life, Virgil had never seen so many costly electronics and luxury before in a single room. If he was to sell all of this to a different buyer, there was no question that he’d be well on his way to pay off all of his debt. Good thing he wasn’t stupid enough to double cross Remy.

“Dying quickly,” Virgil sighed, hanging his head in defeat as he fell back onto the couch, “A new law is about to pass that will be stricter over street vendors and will require a monthly check to make sure merchant’s vending license is legit. It’ll really be cracking down on my ass soon, eventually I won’t be able to sell anymore. I suggest you be careful to, It seems like the police are becoming harder on illegal businesses.”

Remy hummed in reply, ignoring his warning, and walked over to his older coffee maker as he listened, brewing the two of them a cup.

“Does this mean you’re going to go back to your old life?” He asked, leaning against the chipped-wooden counter.

“Hell no!” Virgil declared furiously before calming down, “Even if I went back to stealing, I would never work for  **_him_ ** again.”

“Ah yes,” Remy nodded, pouring the fresh, black coffee into two mugs, handing one over to the struggling clockmaker, “How is my ex doing these days?” Remy asked leisurely, not really caring about the man in question.

“Still the same old bastard he always was,” Virgil said, sipping on the coffee, “though I try to stay as far away as I can, for as long as I can.”

“Babe, you know when he finds out you’re out of work or that you’re back at your old habits, **_he’s_** gonna call off your deal right?” 

Virgil didn’t say anything for a moment, sipping slowly on his drink. He knew what would happen if he couldn’t hold up his end of the wager. He had been an idiotic and desperate teenager when he made the deal with the gang master, pleading to protect himself and his family. Now he was about to fail on his end of the bargain, proving himself wrong, and surrendering everything he had, even himself, to  **_him_ ** . He was certain he’d be able to withstand whatever it was that waited for him, but what about the others?

“I have to get Patton and the boys out, do you think you could take them in?” Virgil pleaded, on the edge of distress.

“Sorry girl, I can’t have two children running around down here, wish I could help.” Remy raised his hands up in mock surrender. Virgil sighed, not knowing why he even asked, Remy couldn't help him even if he wanted to. 

Remy’s ex, and Virgil’s former employer, was the most powerful, influential person in all of the Northern districts, if rubbed the wrong way he could destroy you and own you within a few hours. Virgil has own a debt to him since he was thirteen, and doubled it when he made a bet he was about to fail. 

Virgil could try to hide the fact that he was losing his business, but as it stands, he’s the largest debtor and has eyes on him at all times. There’s no way Virgil could hide from him for long if and when his poor excuse for a business went under. All that was left for him now was to wait for the decision to become public and see whether the new law fell through, or got passed. But perhaps there was one thing he could do to help Patton if not himself.

“Hey Remy, mind doing me a favor?”

 

…

 

Patton sat on the floor of his home; peering over the pile of newspapers he usually called his bed. He looked through the issues from the past few weeks, searching the job offer sections. The options were slim pickings as per usual. Many of the jobs were in the first four districts, where it was illegal for his kind to work. The only reason he held a job in that fourth district restaurant in the first place was because he wasn’t listed as a legal employee, but with this new law coming into action, there was no way any business would hire him there.

The next list of options was from the fifth through eighth districts asking for store employees, tailors, assistant butchers, and waiters among others. There were three total openings from the ninth and tenth districts, but that was all. The rest of the city was too poor to afford an advertisement in the newspaper let alone taking on a new employee. Job offerings were so scarce for being in a city so large. The problem wasn’t directly linked to any one cause, but rather a web of closely related disturbances. Shops were being closed down, owners couldn’t afford to pay workers, and the law dictated who could work where.

Fifty years ago, around the same time the Stackers were created as an economic study, a law was put in place that said where certain classes could work and what they could work as. For stackers, they could only work in the last three districts including their own. However, currently forty-nine percent of the city’s population lived in the stacks, there weren’t enough jobs to go   
around, and now the law has been toughen instead of restrained.

So all in all, there was not one single place that Patton would be able to find work. Patton sighed and lay down dejectedly on the papers. The twins, Thomas and Emile, we outside the bus  playing in the dirt with to toys Patton had made them out of straw and sticks. The dolls weren’t much, but they were the only toys the boys have ever had, and it made them happy, which made Patton happy. Sitting up from his makeshift bed, Patton looked out from one of the bus’s many windows, and watched the boys play. They were playing imaginary as per usual. Thomas was a knight while Emile was an alchemist, both fighting evil monsters from swarming their castle, which was in fact the bus. This was their favorite game and they played it almost every day. It made him smile to see how children were able to still have fun and enjoy themselves, even through poverty.

However, that smile quickly faded when two large figures appeared in the distance, knocking on the doors of crates and shouting for people to come out. The boys noticed too, and stopped playing to see what was going on. Patton didn’t need to tell them to come inside; they knew what this meant themselves.

“Papa! The bullies are back!” Thomas cried as he ran up the steps from the door, Emile right on his heels. The boys knew that Patton wasn’t really their father, but he had adopted them when they were just three years old, so he was pretty much the only dad they’ve ever known.

“I know, into floor, into the floor!” Patton told them, lifting up the loose floorboard and becoming them down under. This was standard procedure every time the rent collectors came over to collect monthly sums. Often times the men would become physical with the tenants they took money from, so it was best that the boys were out of reach. Reaching into his safe, Patton pulled out the appropriate amount for the rent then put the rest back.

As he was shutting the board back over the hiding spot, Emile grabbed onto his wrist and peered up at him with scared eyes. “Be careful dad.” He pleaded. Patton forced on a smile and nodded his head, closing the door and covering the spot with newspapers. He waited nervously for them to come, listening door by door as they crept closer. Eventually they made it to his home, pounding on the glass door so hard that it cracked.

“Open up in ‘ere!” A gruff voice commanded. One of the boys whimpered from beneath, but Patton shushed him. With a large gulp of air, the scared dad made his way to the door, opening it and stumbled out.

There were two people there, one was a large man with ginger hairand long side burns, the other was an equally buff woman, shortly cut, brownhair with several scars painting her face and shoulders. They were the usual lackeys sent to pick up the cost of living in their boss’s domain, and he knew them both by name.

“Time to pay up,” Danni said menacingly, her eyes hostile, enjoying it when others cowered before her. Patton nodded shakily, holding up the required cash and coins, for Danni to count. The rolled her eyes and grumbled when she saw the coins hating when she had to deal with near worthless currency. She began to count, starting with the coins, “Ten copper, twenty copper-” When the sum reached fifty she started on the cash, “Thirt’n, fourt’n, fift’n bronze. That’s it.” She stated, pocketing the money. Patton was about to sigh in relief when she then pulled out her gun, letting it dangled in her grasp. “However, I think I should charge extra fer givin’ the boss coppers, wha’d ya think Dillon?”

Dillon pretended to ponder on that thought, twisting his knife in his fingers and he did so. “I think yer right; the boss hates gettin’ paid with copper coins.”

Patton felt his heart momentarily stop, his eyes widening in fear as he backed up until his back hit the side of the bus. “I-I don’t h-h-have any more money.” Patton squeaked, it was a lie but he couldn’t afford to lose anymore or else they wouldn’t be able to eat. “That’s a load of bullshit.” Dylan spat, “Yer the one with that fancy job up in the ferth district.”

“Yer playin’ us for fools?” Danni spat, shoving the cold metal of her gun against his forehead. Tears fell rapidly as Patton sunk to the floor in fear.

“N-no!” He cried desperately, “I was fired because of that new law! I can’t find work anymore!” His breathing ran speedily as Danni’s steel cold eyes looked over him in distrust. After a few moments of deliberation, she pulled back her gun and stood upright once more, but her gaze did not lose its bite.

“Well better start swipin’ or sellin’ ‘cause Imma gonna be back ‘ere in one week fer your ass if you don’t have the money by then, understood?”

Patton nodded avidly, still holding himself on the ground, quaking in fear as they talked to him. Seeing that their business was done there, the two left the premises, kicking up dirt into the sky as they went on to the next place.

Laying there on the ground for a while more, Patton waited for his heartbeat to slow down as he caught his breath. A few minutes passed until he was collected once more, his tears dried up and he was able to function again properly. He stood from the dirt and went back inside, closing the door behind him. Walking back towards the hiding place, Patton uncovered the floorboard and lifted it back up, revealing the two boys underneath. At first the boys backed away, afraid that they had been found, but once they saw who it was that lifted the board, the jumped out and were pulled into a hug.

“Pa, you’re okay!” Thomas cried happily, burying his face in his adoptive dad’s shoulder. Emile wasn’t as vocal as him, but was just as relieved, holding onto his waist tightly. Patton hugged them back just as fiercely, wrapping his arms around their small necks. When he had taken Thomas and Emile in he had sworn to himself that he’d do them better. Patton was weighed down constantly knowing that Virgil had grown for the most of his childhood jaded and alone, he wasn’t able to enjoy the simple pleasures and games that a child should. So, even if they were stuck in poverty, Patton had made up his mind to never let these boys see his struggle or heartache, they needed to be carefree and not burdened by his troubles.

After awhile the little group’s hug finally ended and they pulled apart. Thomas had stopped crying and seemed to have already forgotten what they were worried about. Emile on the other hand still looked concerned, but no longer scared.

“Well okay,” Patton breathed in, “It’s getting late, so why don’t you two go play while I fix up some supper.”

“Okay!” Thomas cheered and headed down to the door, hopping out to play in the dirt just as he was before. Emile followed after more slowly, eyeing his dad for a little longer. Patton simply smiled and waved as he usually did until her walked outside, once he was gone he let his smile fall again. Even though he was the younger brother, Emile was always so perspective about other people’s thoughts and feelings, he wondered if the little boys knew exactly when he was faking it sometimes. 

Turning to the hole in the floor, Patton pulled out what little food he kept in there, which consisted of some partly moldy bread, a bruised banana, and a few apples. Taking out the bread and banana, he decided tonight’s dinner would be a bread and banana spread. Patton had the ability to make a meal out of almost anything he could find, it was a skill he had to pick up when his mother became sick and he had to cook for them. Picking off the mold from the bread, he got started on the small meal.

He had always found making food calming, but not tonight, right now he was much too concerned with the amount of food he had left. After today, they’d have only three apples to tie them over until who knows how long, they wouldn’t last a week. 

Patton stopped in the midst of making the banana spread to turn around when the sound of the boys squealing and shouting reached his ears. Looking out to see what all the commotion was, hoping they weren’t being too rough with each other, he had instead found that the two boys were surrounding Virgil, clinging onto his arms as he spun them around.

“Virgil!” Patton smiled, for real this time, running over to envelop his oldest son in a hug.

“Hey, Patton. Cooking?”

“Not really,” He mumbled, “Just putting scrapes together.”

Virgil eyed him anxiously for a moment, pulling them aside away from the boys’ hearing radius, then asked “Still no job?” as he walked them into the bus-home. Patton shook his head in remorse.

“No, no one will take me. I can’t go nowhere outside the eleventh district no more.” Despite the damper mood, Virgil grinned a special grin, one of excitement and anticipation. Patton looked at him curiously, put off by his strange reaction. “What?”

“Well dad, I just got you a ticket outta here.” He said victoriously, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two items before handing them over. One was the newest edition of the newspaper, and the other was some form of document. “I had Remy forge you this little bad boy,” He told him, pointing to the document, “You now have a legal ID that says you’re from the sixth district, even got some papers for the boys, and that job you thought was taken is still open, now you can apply no problem!”

For a good long time Patton was silent, too busy gawking at the papers in shock to say anything. But once he got the gears in his mind ticking again, he looked back to Virgil in dismay.

“Virge, this is highly illegal!” He declared, slightly uncomfortable with what has been presented to him.

“So was working in that restaurant.” The twenty year old noted sarcastically, “Come on Pat, this place offers lodging; this is your chance to take the boys and get out!”

Patton looked down at the papers for a moment and considered what he’d be getting into. The job description said that he’d be living and working in the second district, if he was discovered the punishment would be severe. On the other hand, if he was able to pull this off not only would he be able to provide for his family, but he could even let Thomas and Emile live comfortably and get to finally be kids without constant fear and worry. Yet somehow this felt like he was cheating on Virgil, who he was never able to provide properly for.

“Are you sure about this?” Patton whispered, “We won’t be able to see you as much.”

Virgil nodded his head, “I want you and my brothers to be safe. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know that’s not possible.” Patton said half jokingly. “Okay then, I’ll take the offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currency-Coins are called copper and one is the equivalent to ten bronze bills, that's why they're pretty much worthless. Ten bronze bills are equal to one silver bill. Ten silver bills are equal to one gold bill. That's basically it.  
> I feel like I'm kinda really horrible to Patton, but his life is about to turn around, mostly.  
> Also a good portion of this chapter was inspired by The Grapes Of Wrath, which I'm reading right now.  
> Thank you all for reading! see ya later!


	5. Chapter 5

Murder rates went up fifteen percent within the past ten years; theft and armed robbery raised by nineteen percent in the past five; assault jumped nine percent in the past three; and trespassing and vandalism went up two percent within the last year. Each was on a steady incline, none showing any sign of dropping. However the pattern showed a distinctive area. In each city of Flor, it was always the lower districts which held the most crime. This proved troublesome for the lower districts held the craftsmen, construction workers, and other simple folk who ran the smaller jobs that made life convenient for those in the upper districts.

In order for life to continue the way it should, the smaller people needed to be able to work. How they got their work or where was not up to him. Roman’s job was to make sure they were safe so they could continue to do so without a hitch.

That’s what brought Roman’s attention away from the respectable districts, over to the filth that shouldn’t even be considered part of their society. The Stacks. Roman had never been there, no one from the twelfth district up had ever had reason to go there; but they have all heard of it. 

They operated differently than everyone else. The only form of government they had was the occasional government raid to clean out the criminals to bring them to justice, and the patrols during the night, searching the streets to remove their presence where it was not desired; which was everywhere. Everyone had learned about the purpose of the Stacks during the ten years spent in the education system; stackers were part of a trial, an experiment that would set the rest of them free of tribulation.

However the times have now changed. The stackers kept on slipping through the cracks of the system, taking what isn’t theirs. They received grants from the government, they had want they needed, and their actions reflected nothing but greed.

Roman pressed the large red button on his speaker to contact his assistant, who was only fifteen feet away, “Diana, has there been an update on the council’s decision?”

“Senator Winchester’s arrival is due at two this afternoon. He’ll be announcing the official decision in City Hall with the Mayor at two thirty.” Diana told him through the small machine.

“Thank you.” He replied before turning the communicator back off. “Finally,” he murmured to himself, relaxing in his chair.

The new Chief of Security had been nervous for the past week that the provincial council has been meeting. Roman wasn’t allowed into those meetings, so he had no idea what was happening, whether the councilmen and councilwoman approved or disapproved of his plan. Logan hasn’t given him any details either, being sworn to confidentiality until the final decision was made.

Roman looked at the clock on his desk. One fifty-four. The announcement would be made in about half an hour. He couldn’t wait for neither the newspaper nor Logan to tell him; nor could he stand to listen to the decision on the radio, or watch it on the television. Standing from his seat, Roman walked towards his coat rack and slipped on his jacket, and headed out the door.

“Sir, where are you going?” Diana asked as he walked past her desk.

“Out for a bite.” He told her with a sly smile, “Hold my calls for me?”

“Of course,” She scoffed, “It’s not like I, or you, have important work to do.” 

Roman chuckled as he clicked the down button on the elevator. The door dinged, opened, and he stepped in. “That’s why you’re the best.” He grinned at her as the door closed, not missing the dramatic eye roll she sent towards him.

  
  


The city streets were busy as per usual, bustling with drivers on the road, and walkers on the sidewalks. City hall was swarmed by reporters, business owners, and regular citizens; all aching with the need to hear the council’s resolution as well. Downtown parking was always a nightmare, but the excessive amount of people today made it much worse. Roman ended up having to park four blocks away from the building.

The doors to the City Hall were heavily guarded with security, officers at the door checking reporters for their IDs, and looking through bags for any harmful objects. Roman strolled up to the door, not bothering to wait in line with everyone else. An officer stopped him, telling him to go to the back of the line, his tone laced with annoyance. Clearly he wasn’t aware of who he was.

“At ease, officer.” Roman told him, taking his ID badge from his jacket pocket and held it in front of the man’s face. A flash of recognition flashed across the man’s face; he changed his mannerism.

“I’m terribly sorry sir!” The guard apologized profusely, stepping to the side, allowing him access inside. Roman slightly smirked to himself, but kept it hidden, as he walked past inside the large government building. 

The main hall was set up with a portable stage placed on the far end of the open space, a podium and seats in the front for the officials, and rows of chairs placed in front for reporters and spectators. The room was almost completely full, the last of the news reporters taking their seats. The Council Members were all in their designated seats on the stage, with Logan currently taking his spot in front of the podium. Roman couldn’t see an open seat in the sea of people, so he opted to stay right where he was.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, and associates,” He greeted to the crowd, “I welcome you here on the behalf of the Province of Flor and its esteemed Council. To further the protection…”

Roman listened intently to each word that came from his friend’s mouth, hanging on every word spoken up to the reveal. However out of nowhere a glimmer shinned down from the ceiling, striking right against his right eye. Roman blinked in surprise not expecting the intrusive light to appear. Following the trail the light left behind, his eyes were guided to the staff walkways above their heads, built so maintenance could reach the lights over head. In the racks there sat a young boy, maybe nineteen years old, dressed in all black. Roman quickly recognized him as the same boy from the streets. The one who had gotten away from him and inspired this new law. And who most definitely wasn’t allowed to be up there.

“...of the various businesses from fraud and unlawful marketing, we have decided to…” 

Logan continued to speak, not taking notice of the man watching his from above.  _ Was he there to assassinate the senator? _ Roman wondered as he pushed his way through the crowd, making his way to up the stairs to the second floor. The man didn’t move, simply sitting there idly, unaware of the approving officer.

“...go forth with this new law and put it into action.”

The crowd went wild and the sounds of photos being snapped and voice calling out questions filled the room. The boy reached out into his pocket and pulled out an object.

Roman called out to him.

 

…

 

The air was just a tad bit chillier that morning, a sign that autumn was beginning to set in. The cold metal of the crate’s walls burned into the skin of his stayed arm. The normal chorus of ticks and tocks was strangely muffled as well, not quite reaching the full volume it was normally at. Virgil blinked his eyes open wearily, rubbing them roughly as he let out a long yawn, shaking his entire body. He sat up in the crumbled and worn mattress, no longer covered with a sheet, and stretched out his naked limbs, heaving a sigh when the pain in his sore muscles was relieved after being cracked. Reaching over to the discarded pile of clothes by his side, he put whatever his hand touched first; not giving a damn if it matched or was clean. None of them were clean; but not for long. 

Once he was dressed Virgil grabbed the small pile of clothes and shoved all of them into his backpack. He stood and went for the door, but heard the loud thunk of something hitting the floor crunch underfoot right before. Looking down, he saw that he had stepped on a necklace watch that had fallen from his pocket. This one had been made years ago, and was one of the first he had ever done. The piece was made from bronze, with intricate designed etched in, forming a dragon with its wings wrapped around the sides. The chain was of copper wire, long to fit any neck. It was his favorite. Virgil cussed at the cracked glass, putting it around his neck so it wouldn’t fall again.

Pushing the large door open, Virgil was careful to make sure it didn’t open all the way, so the balance of the stack wouldn’t be offset. Finding a foothold on the crate below, he slowly closed his door, bolting it shut and clicking the combination lock on to stop intruders from robbing him while he was away. Step by cautious step, Virgil climbed down, holding onto the rope hanging on the side with one hand in case he slipped, which he has done before. He made sure to never look down, knowing his anxiety would kick in if he did. 

After the slow descent, Virgil placed his feet on the ground firmly, allowing himself to breath for a couple seconds before he carried on. Today was the day Patton was supposed to go apply for that spot as a personal chef for that one rich dude. They had decided to move their monthly bath ahead of schedule by a week so he could look as not dirt poor as possible. 

Patton was already waiting outside when he got there; Emile and Thomas were sitting beside him on the ground yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes. He couldn’t blame them, it  _ was _ dawn. 

“Mornin’ Patton,” Virgil greeted as he walked up, “You ready to go?” 

“Yes,” Patton breathed heavily, not sounding too sure of himself. Virgil gave him a lighthearted smile and patted him on the shoulder, then leaned down to pick up Emile in his arms, Patton doing the same with Thomas.

The boys never liked going down to the river, no one ever did. The water was murky and polluted with debris from district eleven’s factories. However it was the only water supplied to them, stackers were banned from bathhouses and the nearest fountain was a fourteen mile walk. That’s why it wasn’t uncommon to see poorly people lined up behind public fountains with bottles and buckets to get their fill of clean water, risking being chased off by store owners or policemen. Another way to get clean water, the way the Sanders family did it, was by bringing pots to the river to boiling the bacteria out of the water and strainers to clear out the gunk. It was harder and took quite some time if they wanted enough to clean clothes or bathe, but at least they got cleaned and quenched without poison or trouble.

The walk to the river took about thirty minutes downhill, both Virgil and Patton growing tired from carrying the supplies and the sleepy boys. Once there they saw that they almost had the river to themselves, with only three other families there. Setting Thomas down, Patton went to where a premade hole in the ground laid and began to fill it with old newspaper. Virgil, leaving Emile with his brother, walked around to gather wood and sticks, then, once he had enough, brought them back and placed them in the hole. While he got the fire started, the father of the group took his metal bucket to the river and filled it to the brim. As he did so, Patton took a moment to look around at the other families that were there, and others that had just arrived. Many others were burning their water as they were, but some who did not have the materials to do so, bathed directly in the river. The children splashed and played while the mother supervised them a few feet away, and the father stood watch over their belongings with a towel in hand, prepared to protect his wife’s dignity once she finished her bath. Parents, couples, and groups often took turns bathing, never daring to do it at the same time, as it was the common thieves that lived among them that posed a threat to their possessions, ready to rob a person blind when they weren’t looking. 

When the bucket was full, Patton steadily brought it back to the dirt pit, which was now roaring with fire, and carefully set the bucket atop the flame, lest the water spill and cease the blaze. Now it was the waiting game, patient and watchful for the water to boil all the chemicals and bacteria that could do harm. The boys had since waken up and ran around the beach, climbing up the nearest tree to get a better view of their surroundings as they always did. The two adults sat next to each other in a paused silence.

“Do you think I’ll get the job?” Patton asked worryingly, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. 

“That rich dude would be a fool not to hire you;” Virgil told him confidently, “In all m years, not one meal has been able to hold a candle to yours.”

“But what if I do get the job, and they won’t let me take the boys? I don’t want to be separated from them; they need a father in their lives.”

“Patton, promise me something right now,” The younger clockmaker said, turning to facing him directly becoming serious, “Promise that no matter what you’ll take the job. If that bastard won’t let you take them then they’ll live with me, and once you get enough cash, you can pull them out of this hell hole.”

“What about you?”

Virgil shrugged. “I’ve got a price on my head, and it’ll follow me not matter where I go. Best that I don’t endanger you or my brothers anymore.”

“Don’t speak like that.” Patton told him firmly. “Don’t you ever speak like that! You are not a burden Virgil, nor are you a danger. You are my  _ son _ , nothing, not even a debt, will change that. And if that man wants to say anything different, then I’ll have something to say back.”

Virgil chuckled and looked off at the sunrise, peering over the far off skyscrapers of the city, and spoke no more.

Eventually the water boiled and the bucket was taken off the fire. The four off them stripped down to their boxers, and grabbed a sponge or a rag, and cleaned themselves with the hot water, rinsing the water from the cloth over their heads as a mock shower, and then wiping themselves down. Once they were all clean as could be, the water was dumped back into the river and the bucket was filled, strained, and boiled again. The boys were told to stay still as to not dirty them again, struggling with restlessness. Once the next batch was done, Patton used the new water to clean everyone's clothes, setting them out to dry in the morning sun.

No one cared that nearly everyone was indecent on this beach, as everyone had lost their shame long ago to this lifestyle that called for such indecency. Virgil used to, used to care an awful lot. He hated having to strip down in front of everyone as his clothes were cleaned and dried, use to hide up in the trees until it was all over so no one could see him. But as the years passed by and he grew older and more aware, he realized that no one really stares. All of the people on the beach are in the same place as him; they don’t want to be looked at so they don’t look around for too long. Once he realized this he came down from that tree and stood out in the opened, knowing that no one paid him no mind.

Even though the sun was not high up, its warmth did its job in speeding up the drying of both them and their clothes. Of course they weren’t completely dry when they redressed, but they would dry throughout the day as the sun became more unbearable. Soon, however, they wouldn’t be able to do that, and bathing would become much more unpleasant, as winter came and the days turned cold.

Once they were all clothed, the pair began to pack all of their belongings. Virgil put his now clean clothes into his backpack and hauled it over his shoulders. Patton placed their clothes into a dry bucket, and then put that bucket into the slightly wet bucket, handing it over to Thomas.

“Now remember boys,” Patton spoke directly to Thomas and Emile, “Wait for another family to leave and walk with them, stay on the main road and don’t under any circumstances go with anyone, return straight home. I’ll be home around seven.”

The two young boys nodded in understanding, carrying the bucket together and heading back for the road they traveled down earlier, where a family was walking back to the Stacks. Patton watched them go sadly; wistful that he couldn’t walk back with them himself. This was not the first time the boys had to do things themselves. Virgil looked at his sullen features in understanding, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go.” Virgil said, walking toward the far of bridge of the highway, which lead directly into the eleventh district, where they’d catch the next train to second district.

The walk there took them about forty minutes across the rocky sand of the beach. Spent in light banter with Patton talking of what meal he’d like to make for his interview, wondering what foods and spices he’d be provided with, Virgil listening to him talk passively. The trek across the bridge was fifteen minutes, then ten to the station, where the train ride would take twenty minutes to take them to their destination. At some point in between, Patton had quieted down, and resolved to sit nervously at his side, tapping his foot in apprehension. 

Virgil turned his head to look over at his adoptive dad, taking in his cleaned up appearance. For the first time in a while his face wasn’t coated in dirt, his pants were just a bit more new, and for once his collar was fixed up and his shirt was tucked in. If Virgil hadn’t known him, he would have expected he was from the mid end districts, which is what his new papers said.

“Ready to work again?” Virgil asked in a good-hearted jest.

“Terrified.”

“Why?” The younger stacker looked at him in surprise.

“Because I’m leaving the only place I’ve ever known. I’m going to have to live with big city folks, all prim and proper. I’ll look like a fool compared to all of them.” Patton confessed, looking down at the palms of his hands, still slightly dirty, as if they defined him.

“Pat, it doesn’t matter if you’re like everyone else, you don’t have to be.” Virgil told him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “So what if those sour assed prick looks at you weird, you have more heart and character then they’ll ever be able to hope for. And when you get enough money, you can buy that little apartment that you’ve always wanted, even put the boys in school.”

Patton smiled, sitting up from his previously crouched position, resting his back contently against the train seat.

“When did our roles switch to  _ you _ being the one to comfort  _ me _ ?” He chuckled warmly.

“Love goes both ways dad.”

  
  


Patton got off at the station for the second district, bidding Virgil goodbye as the emo wished him good luck. The clockmaker watched as the older, hopefully soon to be, chef walked away, until the train started up again and swept him away to city center, district one, the place where Senator Winchester was due to announce the final decision on the bill.

Once he got off the train car, Virgil headed straight for the alleyways, knowing that he’d stand out and most likely be stopped. The alleyways winded around the city in a confusion pattern, any normal person who was unfamiliar with its maze would become lost in minutes, but Virgil had studied each and every one of them personally due to his old… business. They were near desolate and out of view of the common eye, providing him the perfect shelter to move around freely. 

Coming upon a familiar concrete apartment building, Virgil looked for the escape ladder that would allow him away to the top, but found that it had been pulled up. Heaving an annoyed groan, he went over to the opposite side of the alley to the next building and face around. Getting a running start, Virgil pushed his feet up the wall six feet high, using his strength to push himself up in a large jump for the ladder. He snagged the third bar down and pulled the entire thing down with his weight as he came back to the ground. Now, with the ladder pulled completely down, Virgil climbed his way up, placing the ladder in its original position before he climbed the escape stairs to the roof. Once he was on the roof he looked to the right for the next building, just two feet taller than the one he was currently on. He made his way to the opposite side of the building’s roof, taking a breather, before he charged at the building next to him, leaping to it and grabbing the edge with both of his arms, pulling himself out of danger and onto solid ground. The next building was the same height, but too far to jump onto. Virgil looked around for the plank of wood he had left here five three years ago, finding it exactly where he had left it. Pulling it up and smacking it between the two buildings, he formed a bridge between the two buildings. Virgil got down on his knees and scooted across the plank, keeping his eyes straight ahead, not daring to look down. Once he made it onto the next building he pulled the plank onto his side, setting it far away from the edge. The next building was a three foot drop, then, at last, the next building was the one he had been trying to get to, City Hall.  Making his way down the fire escape until he was only one level above the building, Virgil swung his legs over the side of the barred fence, and jumped down, tumbling onto the roof in a barrel roll.

Tucked into the corner of the roof was an air duct that led into the buildings ventilation system. Pulling out a screw driver, Virgil took off the cover and set it down on the side, slipping the screwdriver into his pocket. Leaving his backpack on the roof, he slipped feet first into the duct and slid down. He pushed his body on his stomach until he found an opening. Making sure there was ground underneath him, he used his screwdriver to pop the lid open, and slid down to the inside of the building. 

The place he had landed in appeared to be a maintenance walkway suspended over the room. The hall was filled with dozens of reporters, business personnel, and officials. Virgil had arrived just in time for the senate to begin his speech. Sitting himself down, he watched and listened eagerly, fiddling with his watch around his neck in anticipation.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, and associates,” He greeted to the crowd, “I welcome you here on the behalf of the Province of Flor and its esteemed Council. To further the protection of the various businesses from fraud and unlawful marketing, we have decided to go forth with this new law and put it into action.” 

The crowd went wild, roaring up an orchestra of noise as reporters shouted questions at the senator. And even though the volume was great, Virgil heard nothing but silence. 

He had gotten his answer.

His small, already struggling business was now dead. Street vendors would be constantly checked, and a good number of them will surely be shut down. Many acquaintances and old buds of his could no longer sell their wares in broad daylight. They were now part of the black market, and a pitiful excuse of sales were they. Who would risk in dealing with the black market to buy a watch or a handmade necklace or wood carving? What was worse for them was not just the lost of being able to buy bread, but also the threat of jail. If they were check and found to not only be operating without a license, but also a stacker, they’d be sent to the house without a thought of hesitance. 

This decision, this single decision made by an ignorant higher up, has just cost Virgil his life in more ways than one. 

Virgil reached into his pocket to pull out his screwdriver, an item that has helped him greatly in the past, and haunts him now.

“Stop!” A thunderous voice called from his left.

Scared, Virgil whirled around to face whoever it was who had discovered him. There, about ten feet from him, was a tall and handsome fellow, probably only a few years older than him. After a moment of shocked silence between them, realization dawned on him as his facial recognition registered the man as the same guy from a few weeks ago, the one who had cost him a sheet and a box for his escape.

With no more hesitation, Virgil hopped up and pulled himself back into the air duct, but felt a hand wrap around his ankle and pull him back down. He fell roughly onto his butt as the man attempted to detain him. Virgil fought back, finding the air duct cover on the ground next to him, and bringing it up to slam it up against the officer’s head. The man stumbled and Virgil kicked him in the gut, knocking him to his knees. Using this diversion as him means for escape, Virgil clambered his way into the ventilation system and out back onto the roof, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his left shoulder as he ran and leaped for the fire escape on the next building, making his way backwards from where he had come, not turning to see if he was being followed once, and not letting up on his speed until he was far from City Hall.

Still pumped with adrenaline and fear, Virgil shakily collapsed onto the ground of the alley, holding a hand over his heart as he fought to breath. In four. Hold seven. Out eight. Repeat. He stayed there on the ground for what seemed like hours, calming himself down.

 

…

 

The house was just as big as he had imagined, may even slightly bigger, and made beautifully from white sandstone. Surrounding the city estate was a twelve foot tall brick wall, with an iron gate in the center. On the wall next to the gate was a buzzer with a camera right above it. Taking in a deep breath, and letting it out, Patton marched up to the buzzer and called in.

_ “Hello, do you have an appointment?” _

The voice sounded almost completely robotic, maybe it was just the static of the communicator, or it was a recorded message, he didn’t know.

“I’m here for the job opening?” Patton responded gingerly, holding his hands together in front of him. The line went quiet for a moment.

_ “A guard will check and escort you to the door.” _

At the voice’s inaudible command the gates opened inward, and a burly guard walked out and over to him.

“Arms out, legs apart.” The guard instructed him. Patton did as he said and the guard patted him down in search for weapons. Once he was sure there was nothing on him, the guard directed for Patton to follow. Once they entered into the courtyard the gate closed behind them and he was brought to the front door. The guard opened the door for him and motioned for him to walk inside. 

He did so and was in awe of the gorgeousness of the home. The ceiling was so high above it would take about eight Pattons standing atop of each other to reach it. The entry room was circular, with three hallways at each end that led to another part of the house. On either side of the entrance to the hall across from the front door were two grand staircases, leading up to a second and third floor. In the center of it all, handing from the ceiling was a grand, electric, chandelier. On the floor beneath it was an intricate pattern that branched off into the hallways like the roots of a tree. The long rectangular windows he had seen from the outside were all covered with curtains, leaving the artificial light the only source in the house, dimming the area quite a bit.

“Name and identification papers, please.” The robotic voice came back, sounding from the top of the left staircase. Patton raised his head to see the one speaking, spotting an older woman in an all black three piece suit, her long gray hair braided into a bun. She walked down gracefully to meet him. Patton hurriedly took out his forged papers that Virgil had given him from his inside his back pocket.

“I-I’m Patton Sanders!” He informed her nervously, placing the papers into her outstretched hand. The elderly woman looked them over delicately--searching, inspecting. After about three minutes passed of her looking over the paperwork, she looked back up to him, her expression unchanged.

“Alright Mr. Sanders, follow me.” 

Patton let out a mental breath of relief, grateful that the papers did indeed work. Strolling after her, Patton was led down the hall to the right of the entrance, the east wing. Down to the third and last door on the right, the two walked into a grand kitchen, bigger than the one he had worked at previously. 

“You will be provided with two hours to make whatever meal you see fit. Once you are done, bring it to the right room in the northern wing.” The elderly woman instructed, pulling out a time from one of the drawers and setting the time. “You may start now.” And with that she walked away and left him alone in the kitchen.

Patton didn’t start right away, still too shocked by the happenings that were going on right before him. He still hadn’t quite processed that he was here and being given a chance to prove himself. Shaking his head, and pushing his glasses into place, Patton go to work and looked around to see what he had for ingredients. The freezer and fridge held a lot of meat and dairy items, while the cupboards overflowed with jam and bread. He noted the two bags of potatoes sitting on the counter. 

‘What would go well together?’ Patton questioned in his mind, looking over all his options. ‘A stew? No. Steak? No. Meat pie? Not that either.’ He kept mulling over every expensive dish he knew that could impress these people, but nothing seemed right, none of the dishes were  _ him.  _ That’s when it hit him; he stubbed his toe on one of the counters. But that’s when he realized what he should make. 

Grabbing all of the necessary ingredients for the two dishes he wanted to make, potatoes, bread, cheese curds, and cornstarch among others, he set his rhythm and began to cook. In a large bowl he prepared gravy as a topping, and then set it into a large saucepan on the stove stirring it for five minutes before leaving it on a low heat to keep it warm. After that he pulled out the bags of potatoes, cleaning them and peeling their skin, and then cutting them up into half an inch thick sticks. Grabbing a new bowl, Patton filled it with cold water and placed the fries in, covering them and leaving them to sit for an hour. 

While he waited for the fries, Patton went on to the next dish, and began to grate the cheese and covered it with cornstarch. He continued on with melting the cheese gradually in a pot mixed with wine and lemon juice. Once that was done, he poured the melted cheese into a ceramic bowl and covered it to keep it warm.

Next he went on to make a half loaf of garlic bread.

After all that was done, so were the fries. Heating up a large pot of oil to 300 F, or about 148 C, Patton fried the potatoes for eight minutes before transferring them to a bowl laced with a paper towel to catch the excess grease. Moving them again to a new bowl, Patton covered the fries in the gravy and cheese curds.  

Placing both completed dishes on a serving cart, Patton pushed them out the door, and went for where he had been told to go. The right room in the northern wing was a massive dining hall with a long oval table in the center, where the elderly woman sat at right hand seat to the head of the table. Patton pushed to cart over to her, and placed the meal before her.

“What is this?” She questioned, and although her voice was still blank monotone, she sounded disgusted.

“Um, Poutine and Cheese Fondue.” Patton replied.”

“This is inadequate.” The woman announced, standing from her seat. Patton’s face fell and his heart shattered just a little more.

“I-I don’t understand, what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s peasant food.” She replied simply, “I refuse to eat anything so greasy.”

“B-but I-”

“Then I will.” A new voice joined in from the door. Both of them turned to the newcomer, Patton didn’t recognize him, but the woman sure did.

“Master Winchester, you are home early.” Again, even when speaking so robotically she was able to sound surprised.

“Indeed, my prior engagement ended earlier than I had anticipated, so I decided to come back here rather than return to my office.” He replied, walking over to the table, “And who is this?” He asked pointedly, looking at Patton.

“Simply another contestant to fail our standards.” She replied.

“Your standards,” Mr. Winchester corrected, “I’m sorry for my butler, she’s can be rather picky. What is it that you have made?”

“Poutine and cheese fondue.” Patton answered back, bowing his head slightly in respect.

“Peasant dishes.” The butler stated, making Patton flinch slightly in shame and embarrassment. 

“Come now, cheese fondue has been praised throughout the nations, although I’ve never tasted the other.” Mr. Winchester replied, sitting himself down in front of the displayed meal. Picking up a fry with a fork, the well groomed man gently raised it to his mouth and took a bite. His face was stoic, but his eyes seemed to lighten up. He took another bite. And another. Mr. Winchester was nearly scarfing the bowl of fries down, but managed to look sophisticated while doing so. “Yes, indeed it is delectable.” He said and stood up to face Patton, who was now able to get a good look at him. He was two inches taller than the stacker chef; his face was clean and pale, with dark chestnut hair carefully combed out of the way. “When can you start?”

In a moment, the joy of a hundred shooting stars, a thousand sunshine days, and million rainbows burst out so powerfully that he could not resist the tears that were building up and spilling over.

“Tomorrow.” He said shakily, overwhelmed with positive emotions. His new boss looked at him peculiarly, but over all ignored his reaction. 

“Good, I expect a well made dinner then. Elise will show you to your new quarters when you arrive.” He stated and began to make his way for the door.

“Wait!” Patton called out to him, stopping the man in his venture to leave the room, “I have two sons, could they live with me?”

The silence that stood between them for the next moment was absolute torturous as the man looked back at him calculatingly before responding.

“Of course.” Then he left.

Patton was on cloud nine of dopamine as he was escorted back out to the front gate, barely noticing as his feet carried him back to the station to meet Virgil again. Oh, did he have some glorious news!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to all Canadians and fans of Poutine, it just showed up when I googled "peasant dishes" Also sorry if he made it the wrong way or missed a step.  
> This chapter was a beast to write, I'm so tired now, but it was worth the final product. Expect to see the mysterious old boss/Remy's ex next chapter (although I'm sure you all know who it is).  
> I love y'all, thank you so much for reading this! See you in the next update.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Slight noncon (Skip from **Damien stood from his seat once again** to **The sun had set hours ago** and **Hours had passed, surely.** to **"I don't believe you need this anymore.**

For the second day in a row the boys were forced to wake up before sunrise, and they were not pleased. Patton had come home with barely contained joy the day before, waiting until they were in private to reveal the good news to the children. Thomas and Emile were unsure what it meant to move and thought they had to leave the bus and go live in a stack. Patton had quickly cleared up their confusion and announced that they would be leaving The Stacks for good. And although Thomas and Emile still didn't understand what that entailed, their father's happiness became their happiness.

Packing didn't take long, very few possessions could be owned in the Stacks without being stolen or sold. The only items the boys were bringing were their clothes, straw dolls, and a couple trinkets. Patton decided to keep the first watch Virgil had made him and his mother's brass wedding ring that has been passed down for four generations. When Emile saw that his dad was keeping these, he decided to bring his prized river stone shaped like a dog. Thomas saw this and wanted to have a keepsake as well, but had nothing to hold onto. So, walking to the bushes outside the bus where he usually plays, he reached down and pulled off one the small branches, and deemed it worthy.

The sun was peeking above the horizon when they had finished and were ready to go. Outside of the bus waiting for them was Virgil, who joined them as company for the walk to the station. Once the boys saw their older brother outside their, now, old home, they brightened up in excitement. Virgil bent down as they ran to him, scooping them up in his arms and giving them a few twirls, erecting loud giggles from both of them.

“Vee! Vee!” Thomas chanted, “Did you hear were moving?”

Virgil hushed the young boy, pushing him down the dirt road, initiating the short walk to Old Donna’s transit truck to take them to the station, since the two boys wouldn’t be able to make the long walk  all the way to the tram that easily. 

“Yes, I did hear.” Virgil smiled proudly, “Dad’s gonna be able to work, you two will get to go to a real nice school and have a bright future for yourselves.” His voice was earnest and full of joyful pride, yet Patton couldn’t miss the small hint of remorse hidden under layers of positivity. Virgil may be acting happy, but he hadn’t made eye contact with Patton once the entire morning.

“What are you gonna do Virgil?” Emile asked, sitting high atop Patton’s shoulders, enjoying the view that came with being tall.

The clockmaker smiled bittersweetly, “I ain’t going.” he told them sadly. The two boys looked at their brother in shock.

“But you have to come!” Thomas argued, “You have to!”

“There’s no place for me where you’re going.”

“But you have to!”

“Thomas,” Patton spoke up finally, “Your big brother has a lot to take care of here first. Once he’s done he’ll join us, right?” Patton asked, turning to Virgil.

Virgil didn’t answer him, and the mood dampened, following the group all the way to the truck transit like a thick rain cloud. For fifteen minutes the truck stayed in place, as the tough, old woman waited for any more customers who needed a ride. When it was time for the truck to take off, it was also time for them to say goodbye. 

The boys were stubborn at first; still too upset at him for not coming with them to say goodbye, but when the last call came their anger subsided. Thomas threw his small arms around Virgil’s neck, hugging him tightly. Emile hugged his side around his waist, burying his face in Virgil’s shirt.

“Promise you won’t forget us?” Emile asked worryingly, looking up with wistful eyes. Virgil gave a soft huff.

“Course not,” He told both of them, running his fingers through his hair. 

Virgil pulled the boys’ limbs off from his body and heaved them both up into the bed of the truck, he turned towards Patton, facing the ground. Reaching into the pocket on his hoodie, Virgil pulled out a small bunch of papers, holding them out to him for Patton to take.

“What are these?” Patton asked.

“Papers for the boys from Remy, as a farewell gift. Now they’re legal and yours.”

Patton looked down at the parchments in astonishment, taking them cautiously into his hands. He raised his head back up, but saw only the top of the boy’s hair.

“Virgil, look at me.” He begged softly.

Virgil flinched and slowly looked up, meeting his gaze shyly. Patton stared at him with both love, love of his first son and best friend, and fear, fear that he’ll never see him again.

“Come with us,” He pleaded, “ _ He _ won’t be able to find you if you’re with us.”

Virgil smiled tiredly, his eyes downtrodden with lost hope and the reality of his situation. Patton never knew the exact detail of his adoptive son’s relationship with  _ him _ or the story behind their meeting or falling out, but he was aware of the fear inflicted in him at just the mention of him. He also knew for a fact that Virgil wasn’t safe here anymore, that’s why he wanted so desperately for him to move with them, but even he knew that it wouldn’t be enough to shield Virgil from  _ him _ .

The truck’s engine fired up and began to inch away. Virgil walked alongside them, and then began to jog, turning into a sprite to stay with them for a little longer.

“I’ll be at the tenth district’s station every Friday at ten A.M.!” Patton called to him, loosely holding Virgil’s hand as he struggle to stay with them. “Say you’ll be there too! Say it!”

“I’ll be there!” He panted heavily, beginning to lose them. Their fingers began to slip and they soon lost grip on each other as Patton and the boys got further and further away. “I love you, dad!” He called as he gave up on running, just barley loud enough for Patton to hear.

“I love you too!” He called back, unsure whether he was heard or not.

  
  


Despite it still being early in the morning, the streets were already bustling with people in nice suits and fancy skirts and dresses; rich folk, ignorant folk, all on their way to their nice jobs. The boys saw this and became embarrassed of their dirt covered knees, they had never seen clothes as nice as this, buildings this high, or streets this clean. They became uncomfortable and displeased; this was nothing like the home they had left. Compared to everyone else, the three of them stuck out like a labor driven thumb. 

Patton led them away from the tall office buildings and down to the residential area where they’d be staying. The crowds thinned out more as the tall buildings turned to decorative trees and green gardens. His new boss’ home wasn’t the largest on the block, but it was definitely beautiful nonetheless.

The same guard from yesterday was waiting behind the gate when the three arrived, welcoming them in with a nod and escorting them to the front door before returning to his post. Patton reached to open the door, but was startled when it opened quickly on its own. Hopping back in surprise, he looked up and met the distasteful gaze of the butler. He attempted to offer her a kind smile, but it only made her grimace even more. The butler looked the children over once then looked back to him.

“Welcome, Mr. Sanders, I don’t believe I shared my name the last time we met. I’m Elise Fawn, Master Winchester’s butler and long time associate. I have been directed to show you about the manor and inform you of your duties.”  She told him robotically, stepping aside to let the three of them in. Patton walked in, holding both the boys’ hands in each of his. He was still taken away with the beauty of the manor. Elise strode down the main entrance and stepped up the right staircase, bringing them to the second door on the right of the hallway that branched off from the stairs. She opened the door for them gesturing to the dimly lit room.

“This will be your room; the three of you will share.” said Elise, “Across from you is Jamie, the cleaner. On your left is our guard, Ahmed, and I’m on your right, so try to not get too loud.” She gave a pointed look to his sons. “The last door on left it the baths. You will wake up in time for Master Winchester to eat his breakfast at six thirty every morning with a packed lunch for him to bring to work. His dinner is to be served precisely at eight every evening unless he chooses to stay late, which is often. When he does so you will stay with his food and keep it warm for when he arrives home. Do you understand?”

Patton nodded, not commenting on her patronizing tone. “Yes, but what about the rest of the manor?” 

“You will not need to be anywhere besides this hall, the dining hall, and the kitchen. A tour is not necessary.” With that said, Elise closed the door at left them, her footsteps echoing through the walls as went further from them, the subtle decrescendo fading to nothing. 

Patton stared at the door for a moment more, giving the boys’ hands a light squeeze before letting them slip from his grip. Plastering a smile on his face, he turned to them with a clap of his hands.

“Well, that was quite a lot to take in,” He grinned lopsidedly, his eyes shut tight. Setting his bag on a nearby table, he took out a clean change of clothing for the three of them. “How about a bath to celebrate our move?” He asked decidedly, not leaving any room for discussion as he made his way to the door. “Why don’t you two look around the room while I go fill the tub?”

Thomas and Emile watched him exit the way they had come in, leaving them alone in the strange room. They were curious and wanted to look around badly, but were too put off by its foreignness, so they resolved to simply play with their straw dolls on the carpet where they stood.

 

…

 

It didn’t take long for them to come for him. He knew they would, and indeed he was actually surprised that it took this long. As soon as Virgil stepped foot back in the center of the Stacks, only a couple yards from the stack where his home sat at the very top, two familiar faces he’s gotten to know well over the years stopped him from going any further.

“Virgil.” Danni spoke.

“Dickhead.” He greeted nonchalantly.

“ _ Virgil _ .” Dillon took a step forward menacingly. 

“ _ Dipshit _ .” He replied coolly, playing with Dillon to see if today would be the day he snapped. As usual, the broad man tried to go after him, but his older twin held him back. She knew they weren’t allowed to hurt him. According to their orders, only  _ one _ could touch him.

“The boss wants to see you.” Danni said, casually placing a calm hand on the pistol hanging from her belt. “I suggest you don’t keep him waiting.”

Any tranquil feelings Virgil might have previously owned instantly flew south, his straighten posture curled in, his shoulders sagged and the smirk fell away from his face. A miniscule voice in his head told him to run, to bolt away from here and find Patton and live with him in hiding, saying that he’d would be safe away from  _ him _ . But a much larger voice screamed for him to comply, and maybe he wouldn’t get hurt this time, that running would only make the pain worse. Years and years of fighting back, running away, and disobedience have all taught him only one thing: It was better for him to just nod and listen.

And he did.

Listening to her words, Virgil nodded in defeated agreement and followed them, letting them take him to who had called on him.

_ His _ den was lavishly made for being in the Stacks, built from several shipping crates with their walls and floors removed to form one large room and a smaller upstairs.The downstairs space was where  _ he _ usually lounged around, ate, and confronted  _ his _ debtors and benefactors; and the upstairs being  _ his _ private area, where more  _ personal _ matters were held. The main room was dressed with luxurious furniture and floored with pristine fur rugs, but only in certain areas where only  _ he _ was allowed to be. Well…  _ him _ and a few… others. Posh drapes hung from the high ceilings to section off the areas of the room, and also to give privacy if it was needed.

It was as rowdy as he remembered it, even though Virgil hasn’t stepped foot in this place for almost two years. A small group of men and women gathered around a small cage, pinning two rats up against each other in a fight to the death, and placing bets on the winner. A few other groups sat close to them at card and gambling tables, engaging in a high stakes games of poker, roulette, and other such games. Many of them held either a cigarette or a glass of alcohol in their hand or between their lips, indulging themselves as if the world was not falling apart at the seams.

“Virgil!” A voice,  _ his _ voice, called boisterously, silencing everyone in the crowds. Everyone here had heard of that name at least once, heard stories of the boss’ close relation with that name, but many had never seen the face to matched the name. Heads turned towards the door, searching eagerly to discover the mysterious stranger. However, soon enough the curious and excited gazes switched to ones of disappointment upon seeing the purple fringed young man standing anxiously at the door. 

Virgil tried not to show discomfort, but he could not help but shift under all of the stares. Danni and Dillon pulled him away from the gambling tables and over to the far right area, where a thin curtain around a sort of throne hid the features of the man who had just called for him. His maroon, chesterfield chair sat atop a small platform, giving him the sick feeling of superiority and height above everyone else. Even though he couldn’t see _his_ face, Virgil could **_feel_** _his_ eyes grazing over him.

“Leave us,”  _ His _ smooth voice commanded the twins, “and close the drapes.”

The two that had brought him there complied with a bow, stepping away and shutting the heavy drapes to allow them the privacy their boss desired.

Several heartbeats went by within a second as nothing more was said. Virgil could feel his breath become heavy despite his efforts to remain calm. The eerie candle light displayed little to him, but it did enable his to see the feral grin that had spread on the man’s face. A multitude of added, torturous, seconds passed between them before the man chose to do anything. Unfolding  _ his _ long legs from their crossed position, and standing up from  _ his _ seat,  _ he _ came into the candle light, exhibiting  _ his _ scarred face at last.  _ His _ left held a yellow glass eye with the pupil of a snake etched into it.

“My, my, my,”  _ He _ sang, swaggering over, “If it isn’t little Virgil, back from his game.” Virgil shuddered from the twisted sweetness of  _ his _ voice, appalled that  _ he _ called his desperate attempt to clear his debt a “game”. 

“I warned you that you’re little business wouldn’t be able to pay me back within our agreed five year term, but now it appears that it doesn’t even matter,”  _ He _ circled around while  _ he _ spoke, as a predator would to his pray.  _ He _ came around and placed  _ his _ hands on Virgil’s shoulders, rubbing small circles into them as  _ he _ leaned in close to his ear. “Are you prepared to carry out your end of the bargain?” 

“ _ Damien _ …” The anxious clockmaker said in a hushed breath. Damien smirked at his frightened and shaking voice, resting his chin on the other’s shoulder.

“I always knew that this would happen, I had warned you. Yet, you ignored me and went to start your own business anyway.” Damien pushed himself off of Virgil, and strode back up to his throne, falling back into its cushion. “However, it seems like you were able to get Patton out of harm's way before I was able to reprimand him. For that, I must commend you.” His eyes didn’t show it, they only glistened with anger and want. “But you did break our deal at the same time, and for that I’m afraid I’ll have to issue out a punishment.”

Virgil felt a chill go down his spine that made his body physically shudder, no matter how much he tried to stop it. His heart pounded feverishly against his chest, snuffing out almost all of his oxygen and making him short of breath. He knew exactly what Damien had in mind, all too well, and he did _ not _ want to go there.

“D-Damien, I s-swear Patton didn’t leave because of the deal, I was just helping him find a job a-and-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Damien wagged a finger at him, his grin becoming much more feral. “Did I say you could speak?” Virgil looked at the ground, and shook his head, “I didn’t think so. These past few years away from me has corrupted your mind, perhaps I should…  _ correct _ it.”

Damien stood from his seat once again, but this time he wasted no time to flaunt his power to intimidate him, he didn’t need to. Grabbing Virgil roughly by the shoulder, the gangster yanked him out of the curtained area and out into the large room. Virgil squirmed and tried to fight him off, but his iron grip only became that much tighter. The instant they were out in the open all eyes had turned to them and the silence had once again returned.

“Guard the entrance, don’t anyone enter,” He gave Virgil a sharp look, “or leave.”

The twins nodded and followed behind them as Damien forcibly dragged the emo up the crudely made stairs, forcing him into the only private room in the building, standing guard at the base of the stairs once the sound of a door being slammed reached them. The other patrons in the building looked between each other uncomfortably, unsure of what to do or think. It wasn’t the first time they had seen the boss go into that room with someone, but this felt different,  _ much _ different.

In the room Virgil continued to fight, squirming, screaming, and kicking. Anything to try and prevent what he knew he couldn’t stop. He was thrown onto a bed, a real one, luxurious and soft, with feather pillows and silk sheets. It felt worse than sleeping on the rocky shore of the river, where birds squawked and attacked you. In the midst of his feeble struggles, he had managed to knee Damien in the side, allowing a small opening to be presented. However, it had left as soon as it had come.

“Oh, Virgil.” He purred, pushing his shoulders down, “I wished you hadn’t of done that.”

 

…

 

The sun had set hours ago, abandoning the world to be engulfed in the cold darkness of the night. It was mid October and the temperature had began to drop more and more with each passing day, leaving its counterpart to drop down into the forties. The small ticking clock on Roman’s rectangle desk informed him that it was half past ten. Quite a few of his coworkers had left an hour or so ago, but he had stayed behind, digging through files and files of residential records. He was looking,  _ searching _ , for someone, him. Their encounter yesterday had left him shaken and confused, and Roman didn’t like that.

How had he gotten into such a highly secured building so easily without being seen? Why was he there in the first place? The kid looked so young--nineteen, maybe twenty, and twenty-one at the most--why was he getting himself involved in criminal activity? And most importantly, how had he let him get away a second time?

Back when he was a police officer, Roman had had a spotless record; no one who had crossed him was ever able to avoid their sweet serving of justice, delivered by his hand. He had worked in the homicide division, where Roman had gone after the most cunning of criminals, the most dangerous, yet a kid was able to slip him up?

By the way he moved, Roman could tell he was no fighter; from what he saw, he knew he had no strength; and from what he observed, he had no clear aim. The boy acted with anxious uncertainty, as if he questioned where he had placed his foot every time he took a step.

Roman piled through paperwork after paperwork of certified province IDs, but found no one under his description. It was as if he didn’t exist. The fact that he was unknown under the system meant the explanation could only be found in one place, where the government had no regulation. 

Running a tired hand through his honey brown hair, Roman decided to call it a night, placing all the files spread out on his desk haphazardly in his briefcase. Walking to his coat stand, Roman pulled over his thick, red, jacket, with the collar up, and left his office, locking the door behind him. He waved to anyone who was still there, bidding them a farewell. 

The drive home to his apartment in the fifth district was quiet and empty, the streets left near barren at this hour. Parking in his designated spot at the complex, Roman sauntered into the building, entering the passcode to get in, and climbed into the elevator, hitting the button for the thirteenth floor. His apartment wasn’t the largest, but it provided enough space for him to live the way he wanted. It had two bedrooms, one being an unused guest room, down the hall to the right of the front door; an office and a bathroom on the left of said hallway, with a wide living room and open kitchen on the left side of the apartment. It was standard for pretty much anyone, really.

Roman hadn’t eaten dinner yet, but he was much too exhausted to cook, or even call in delivery for that matter. So he opted to head to sleep instead. Stripping down to his bare skin, leaving his clothes lazily dropped across the floor, he climbed into his soft and comfy bed, sighing into his satin pillows and cotton blankets. And yet, even with all this comfort surrounding him, and his tired body lulling him to sleep, his mind was still roaring with the thoughts of the one who had got away from him, twice.

_ I’ll find you stacking mouse. _ He thought to himself as he faded from consciousness.  _ That’s a promise. _

 

…

 

Hours had passed, surely, but he had no idea what time it was. Dried sweat had plastered itself to his skin, creating a foul body odor that he wouldn’t be able to remove until his next bath a month from now. His limbs were sore and drained and unable to move, and even if he could, the heavy body on top of his would stop him. His flesh was covered in harsh bites, dried blood coating several of them, and a few with fresh blood still seeping out.

Virgil felt disgusting, both physically and mentally. He had sworn to himself that he’d never let this happen to him again, but it seemed like he was still as powerless as always. Five years and nothing had changed.

Damien let out a content breath, and flopped onto his back, removing his weight off of Virgil, but kept a possessive hold on his waist to prevent Virgil from escaping, not that he could without it either way. He reached a gentle hand to Virgil’s hair, brushing his fingers through the purple fringe; the purple he had given to himself when the deal had first been struck.

“I don’t believe you need this anymore. How about we dye it back to yellow tomorrow?” Virgil didn’t answer, Damien didn’t mind, he didn’t have a choice in the matter anyway. 

In the Stacks, having dyed hair was not a sign of wealth, that you could afford the dye, or a sign of rebellion; it was a sign of ownership. Bosses from every Stack in every city and province had a designated color, and Damien’s was yellow. That way if a debtor or slave had run away, they’d be able to be identified.

However there was a color that no boss owned, because it signified that an individual had bought their freedom; purple. Purple was the color of freedom, and yellow was the color of the lack thereof. 

And Virgil had just lost his for the second time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was slightly uncomfortable for me to write, sorry if it was uncomfortable for you to read as well. As a disclaimer I'll tell you that there will be no explicit content in this story, but there will be mention of it, so I apologize and will warn you when it happens. (Should I use the noncon warning?)  
> Thank you all for reading this chapter and story, it'd make me very happy if you left a comment before you go :D!  
> See y'all in the next update, love ya!


	7. Chapter 7

In one week, Logan would have to leave his city and his province and head for the nation’s capital of Clover in Moors, the largest province, and also the wealthiest. The senators, deputy senators—and their secretaries—of each province would meet in the capital for summit every two months for eight weeks. Usually at the start of September to October, Logan, and his deputy Joan, would leave for Clover and would not return until December; but there were complications this time when the Chancellor was scheduled to leave the country at the middle to the end of September for the International Summit, so they'd be going from October to November instead, and then continuing as usual in the month of January. That meant that he had to get as much work done as possible in the short time he had left in his home.

The council was not making it easy on him.

“Listen!” Logan slammed his hand on the table, attempting to regain the attention of the bickering representatives. “The mines cannot afford to be slowed. If we were to do that then many of the workers would be laid off and the unemployment rate would further increase!”

“But if we lessen the amount of coal, iron, and other natural resources that are on the market then their value will increase as stimulate the economy again!” Adriana, representative of the third district, the district that held the province’s capital Faun in, argued fervently.

“Who's going to buy those materials if no one has any jobs to pay for them? Think for a moment.” Lillian, representative of the fifth district, rebutted. 

“You just want to protect your district's manufacturing!” Adriana accused, her plump face blushed bright red in embarrassment.

“I want to protect our people!” The tall, black-haired, politician defended. Adriana was about to counter her again, but was shut down when Logan stood abruptly from his seat.

“Our session is now adjourned!” He bellowed out in annoyed fury, “We will pick this back up at noon tomorrow. Voting on this bill will take place at three in the afternoon. Good day!” With that said, Logan angrily placed his paperwork into his briefcase and marched off, Jonathan following after him. 

The session had been called into action five hours ago, and nothing was accomplished other than childish bickering between the council members. It had been Adriana who introduced this new bill before them to lower the amount of natural resources that could be mined in Flor annually in order to raise their cost on the market in an attempt to bring a larger flow of money into the economy. Adriana, although short and youthful, was a well-minded and direct woman who truly did have her people’s best interest at the forefront of her mind. However, she was often hardheaded and single minded, and didn’t like to admit her faults or mistakes easily. Lillian on the other hand, was more open minded and thorough, preferring to give deep consideration to an issue while having the flexibility to change her views if need be, though she was prideful and liked to flaunt her wisdom and opinions when it wasn’t needed. Trying to get anything done with the two of them was a recipe for a nightmare.

Although, when the two were not discussing work or politics, they got along quite well; they were actually great friends. If only they could bring that cordiality into the meetings.

As it stands, Adriana is more likely to lose on this one. Only one of the five agree with her, that one being Winston, while the rest all are in favor of Lillian. There were already so many out of work; they can’t afford to close off any of it.

Flor’s economy is built around mining, lumber, and fishing. However, due to the deforestation, there isn’t as much lumber being processed in the province. And since it was currently autumn, the mines were all that their economy had. The best time of year for the fishing harvest is the summer, which has passed; winter brings some fishing, but not enough to stabilize the market. Flor can’t afford to limit one of the few job-creating commerce it held.

 

The meeting had carried on longer than he would have liked, and taxed him of much of his strength and energy. Logan notified his assistant to request him a light meal from his butler for when he arrived back at his manor. It was past nine o’clock at night, and in order to not be keep up late due to gastric emptying it’d be best to eat a light dinner.

When he arrived home, Logan left his car parked in front of the porch steps in the courtyard’s roundabout, not bothering to park in his garage. His butler Elise greeted him as he walked in, taking his coat and briefcase from him, announcing that dinner was awaiting him in the dining hall. And indeed it was. There on the table before head chair, sat a bowl of lentil soup and a small basket of crisp bread. The presentation of the dish was limited, but the smell was so succulent that it almost swept him off his feet. As per usual, his new chef was nowhere to be seen.

It had been a little over a week since Logan had taken on the peculiar man as his new personal chef, and since then he’d only ever seen the rare ghost of him around the manor, as if the other was trying to purposefully avoid him. It’s not that he particularly minded, he was actually far too busy a majority of the time to really ponder on it, but it was quiet moments like this that made him wonder as to why that was.

The meal had been splendid as always and had been just enough to cure his growling stomach. Dabbing his face clean with his cloth napkin, Logan stood from the table and made his way out and up the stairs to his room on the third floor, prepared to lie down and fall asleep. However, something fairly unusual stood hiding behind the curtains of one of the many windows; or rather someone.

A pair of small feet poked out from the bottom, giving away their location and thwarting their attempt of secrecy. Quietly Logan walked up to the small figure and pulled back the curtain to reveal a small boy that he could only guess was one of his chef’s aforementioned sons. He was clad in a pair of worn brown shorts and a faded pink button up, a pair of old and too large shoes on his feet. His chestnut brown hair that was desperately in need of a trim was tucked neatly behind his ears. The young boy looked up at him in an excitement that quickly transformed into confusion and slight hesitation.

“Good evening young man,” Logan greeted the child, “What are you doing here?” The boy seemed to ease up a bit once no ill will was presented from him, but he still held himself in a way that looked skittish.

“I’m playing hide-and-seek with my pa and brother.” He replied in a murmur, not completely meeting Logan’s gaze. “It’s been about half an’ hour.”

“Does he know you are up here?” Logan asked, kneeling beside the boy.

“No silly, I’m hiding.” He answered as if was the clearest idea in the universe, and perhaps it was, but it had been well over a decade since Logan had played last. Logan sat crisscrossed next to the boy on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. The boy stared at him for a moment before deciding to do the same, seemingly much more relaxed than before.

“Do you play this game often with your father?” The little boy shook his head, fiddling with the laces on his heinous shoes.

“Pa is normally too busy with work to play with us, but since we came here he’s been finding more time. It’s nice.”

For a child most likely no more than seven years old, he held a look that spoke years of wisdom and experience. It was as if he understood more than he let on, but held in his knowledge for a reason that was unknown. Logan was surprised, but not in a pleasant way. He was all too familiar with having to grow up at such a young age as this; he had wished he’d never have to see it in another youth. Standing to his feet, Logan reached out a hand for the boy to take, offering his help in more than one way.

“Come along, I’ll take you to your father. I highly doubt he knows you’re here.”

 

As he had suspected, his chef, Patton Sanders if he did recall correctly, was frantically searching in every place except the third floor, as Elise had told him that it was forbidden. He cleaned up that misunderstanding and clarified that only certain rooms were off limits unless otherwise stated by him and him alone. He’d have to speak with his butler later on the subject more thoroughly.

Patton had been incredibly relieved when Logan had found him in the dining hall searching for his missing son, his other offspring at his side practically glued to him. He had been thanked profusely by the distraught father, learning that the boy he had found was named Emile and was the younger of the twins.

“It’s quite alright.” Logan waved him off, “He is a rather unique lad.”

“Oh yes, Emile is my favorite little nerd.” Patton agreed with a bright smile, running his fingers through the boy’s locks, messing up his neat hair. Logan watched this with interest, gazing at the scene of his chef with his two sons. He noticed that the slightly ragged attire of Emile, which he had at first found to be odd, applied to the entire family. Each of them wore clothing that appeared to be well worn with time, he could even see stitching on his other boy’s, whose name he did not yet know, shorts. Logan felt a peak of curiosity at this.

_ Could the depression have spread so far, so badly?  _ He wondered inwardly.

“Well, thank you for finding my son,” Patton spoke up, pulling Logan out of his thoughts, “But we better let you sleep now.” 

“Actually, I’d like to have a talk with you about a few matters. Stay for a few minutes after you deliver me my breakfast.” He stated in command, coming off slightly intense although he didn’t mean to. His chef’s face fell, a small fear shining in his eyes from the implication of his words. 

“Yes, sir.” Patton responded, the light shakiness in his voice not going unnoticed. Logan watched as the servant grabbed his children and started up the stairs from the main hall to the servant living area. As they left, Emile turned around in his father’s arms and waved goodbye. Logan couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, and lightly waved back. 

Once the family disappeared around the corner, and the sound of a door opening and closing was made, Logan made his way up the stairwell. Once he was on the second floor, Logan glanced at the right hall of the manor, and saw room light shining under the doors into the hallway. He heard the sound of the new family talking, and of Jamie singing to himself as he always did, and the faint noise of water running on the far end from the bathroom. Looking at the opposite end in the left wing, Logan saw nothing but empty darkness, just as with the rest of the manor. 

Silently he walked away and up to the third floor where his bedroom, two empty rooms, his private library, and office were. This part of the manor was even more quiet and empty. Stepping into his room, Logan went immediately towards his outside balcony. The cold autumn night air felt both refreshing and numbing on his skin, he let out a breath and watched as it materialized before him as steam.

Thinking back, Logan remembers back when he was younger, where he would sneak down this very balcony and go out to the garden in the middle of the night to watch the stars, naming all the constellations and planets he could. He used to want to be an astronaut, but that was a long time ago. His parents used to be furious with him when they found him out from his bed, but Ahmed had always been three steps behind him, so he was never in any real danger.

While he thought this, he noticed Ahmed patrolling the gardens, shining his flashlight in the shadows for any potential threats. Logan frowned and went back inside.

 

…

 

Patton had woken up the earliest he had in awhile, nervous for whatever his boss wanted to talk to him about that morning. His mind filled with skittish worries of the slight possibility that he might be let go so soon. He wanted to make a tasty, healthy, and safe breakfast to curve any thought Mr. Winchester may have been having. When he got up, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and his boys were still asleep on their side of the bed. These rooms were very luxurious for being servant rooms. While it only had one bed, it was a queen and was large enough to fit all three of them. Patton slept on the right closest to the door, while Thomas and Emile slept together on the left. Striding to the wardrobe directly across from the foot of the bed, Patton pulled out a blue polo shirt and brown khakis, which he considered to be his nicest clothes. 

Once he was dressed, he gave a peck on the forehead to his boys and walked down to the kitchens. He planned to make Eggs Benedict with bacon and a side of hash browns. 

It was around six o’clock that the manor began to become alive. The master would start his day in thirty minutes, so the staff had to start before that, and just as he always had since his first day here, Patton not only made breakfast for Mr. Winchester, but for the staff as well; except for Elise, who preferred to make it herself. Jamie was the first to walk in, as per usual.

“Good m’rning,” He yawned as he walked in, rubbing red, tired eyes. His short curly hair was in tangles and still a mess from sleep, he was still dressed in pajamas and without his binder. Jamie was one of those people who couldn’t function on an empty stomach, so he chose to eat before he got ready.

“Morning, Jay!” Patton smiled, using the nickname he had chosen for his new friend. He had actually run a few by him, asking which one Jamie would prefer, but he told Patton that any way was fine, so he decided on Jay. “Hungry?” He already knew the answer.

“Ravenous.” He grinned, setting himself down at the center table in the kitchen, where the staff often ate. Patton brought over a plate of eggs, bacon, and sliced avocado, complemented with a glass of orange juice. Jamie shortly thanked him before stuffing his face.

Next in was Ahmed, dressed in his security outfit, who immediately demanded a cup of coffee, which Patton had already prepared. He sat down next to Jamie in silence, neither one being a morning person and both not willing to start a conversation yet.

Out of all of them, Ahmed got the least amount of sleep, since he had to wake up every two hours during the night to conduct a sweep of the manor because he was the only guard. Patton hadn’t been told why, but apparently Mr. Winchester didn’t want or trust anyone else to guard him. The man was in his forties, but he was still quite strong and capable and more than enough protection for their employer, at least that’s what Ahmed always told him.

And at last Elise walked in, prim, proper, and fully awake and aware. Today she wore a long grey skirt and long black button up shirt with a grey vest the same color of her skirt. Walking for the refrigerator, she pulled out the milk carton and poured herself a glass. She plucked an apple from the fruit basket and cut herself a slice of bread for her breakfast. Patton had offered to make her something as always, but curtly declined.

Once everyone had finished eating they all gave their dishes to Patton and went to start their day. Ahmed went to start his first patrol of the grounds; Jamie went to go get dressed before he started on the west hall. Elise left to her office. 

It was now six thirty; Mr. Winchester should be waiting for him to serve his meal. Setting the warm food and coffee on the cart, Patton pushed it out and down to the dining hall. When he entered he noticed that his employer had already arrive, currently reading the paper as he waited. Patton hadn’t read the paper since he left.

“Forgive me sir, have you been waiting long?” 

Mr. Winchester looked up at his voice; his face was pale, as if he had barely slept.

“No, I’ve only been here less than a few minutes.” Patton nodded in relief and brought over the food, setting the meal and drink before him; Mr. Winchester pulled back his sleeve to eat. “Please sit.” 

Patton did as he was told and pulled open a chair next to him and sat down on the edge. They sat there in silence for a few minutes that felt like hours to him. He didn’t want to say anything, but he felt himself become more awkward the longer they went without saying anything.

“Um, Mr. Winchester-”

“Please, Mr. Winchester was my father. You can call me either ‘Senator Logan’ or ‘Sir’ if you would like.” Logan interrupted, patting his mouth with a cloth napkin. Patton felt surprise swell within him.

“You’re the Senator?” He asked in shock. Logan looked back at him with an almost equal amount.

“You weren’t aware of that fact?”

Patton shook his head.

“The newspaper didn’t say what your occupation was, and no one else told me.”

Logan hummed in thought, looking down at his food in consideration. A short moment passed before he looked back up.

“According to your paperwork you’re from the sixth district, correct? What is life like there?”

Patton felt his heart drop to his stomach, panic filled his veins, but he tried to not let it show in order to not raise any suspicion.

“Uh, well, it could better.” He answered unconfidently, looking anywhere that wasn’t his boss. In truth he had only ever been to the sixth district while he was at the tram station and, or when he was passing through on the tram, so he only really saw glances. But he did see enough over the years to have an idea of what it was like. “It was nicer a few years ago, but more people are on the streets nowadays. There are some jobs, just not enough for everyone. In fact I’ve seen a few foreclosure sign popping up recently. Not much had been done to fix it and everything has only been getting worse.”

Patton hadn’t noticed that his voice stopped shaking a long time ago, or that he had been directly staring at Logan the entire time; he hadn’t noticed that his fist were clenched, or that he had raised his voice slightly as he was speaking; he had noticed that he had basically just criticized Logan’s work ethic to his face.

Logan listened closely while he unknowingly ranted; giving Patton’s words his full attention. His eyes were calm and calculating, warm and cold, boring into him. Patton felt unnerved by the almost robotic gaze, as if Logan was an android and not a real person.

“Is that why you left?” He asked composedly, seeming to have completely forgotten about his half eaten meal on his plate. Patton felt a small prick of annoyance, but pushed it way down quickly. 

Yes and no. He hadn’t left the Stacks because employment was low; he left because it was nonexistent.

“Yes.” 

The sound of tiny footsteps was suddenly out in the hall. Patton looked at toward the door, knowing that the boys were probably heading to the kitchen to look for him and have breakfast together as they always did.

“You’re sons?” Logan questioned, returning back to his meal.

“Yeah, they probably want breakfast.” He smiled warmly, still staring off towards the door. “I should get back to them.”

“Of course,” Logan agreed, standing up, “Are they in school yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Too young?”

“No, just haven’t been enrolled yet.”

Logan, pausing mid action, looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Well… then I shall have Elise enroll them right away. There is a private academy about a mile from here, they shall go there.” Logan decided, recomposing himself, straightening his coat. Now it was Patton’s turn to look at him as if he were crazy.

“Sir, please, that’s too much.” He tried to argue, “A private academy costs money that I don’t have, I was planning to send them to a public school.”

“Then I shall take care of it.” Logan said as if it were the most obvious solution, “While I have not had the pleasure of speaking with both your other sons, my chat with Emile has revealed him to be a very clever and perceptive young lad. He’ll need an education to sharpen his wit.”

“Sir, I really don’t deserve this, and I can’t ask this of you.”

“You are not asking this of me, I am offering this to you of my own will. Please do not feel as if I am causing you a burden, and please don’t force me to make this an order.”

Patton backed down, knowing he could not change his boss’ mind. Patton hadn’t had the time to go buy them new clothes let alone enroll them in school; it had been only ten days that they’ve been here. He had planned to do all that once they were completely settled and when he had gotten his first paycheck, which was in four days. Hearing that his boys would be able to not only go to school faster than he had expected, but also be going to a fancy academy was more than he could take at once. Despite what Logan had told him, he had already started to become overwhelmed. His eyes began to water as a surge of happiness swept over him.

“T-thank you sir!” His voice quaked out of his control, emotion pouring out into his words. The smile was small, but it was still there, present on Logan’s lips.

“You are very much welcome.”

 

…

 

The sun had risen; that much he could tell. Through the walls of the crate building Virgil could hear the sound of chirping birds and a low bustle, meaning that the day was just beginning. Virgil now had to rely on sound to tell him the time of day, seeing that Damien had taken his watch away when he had first stripped him down. He didn’t like reminders of Virgil disobeying him.

He hadn’t seen the sun in a couple days, although wasn’t exactly sure how many. The light from the oil lamp was all that he’s had. This room has no windows, and he wasn’t allowed to leave it, not yet at least. Without his clocks and without the sun, Virgil had loss almost all sense of time, only having vague ideas of when it was day and night based on sounds and the temperature of the room.

A low rumbling was made next to his ear and an arm wrapped itself around. Virgil jolted despite knowing who it was, apparently annoying the other by doing so.

“Don’t move.” Damien muttered under his breath, leaning his body in closer, pressing himself against Virgil’s back. Virgil did as he said, turning as stiff as a plank of wood, but this annoyed him as well. “Relax,” He shushed into his ear, “I won’t do anything to ya… For now.” He grinned, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. Virgil begged and pleaded with his body not to respond, but despite himself, he shuddered out of discomfort and fear. Seeing his reaction, Damien did it again, but on his neck this time. Virgil tried to scoot away on impulse, but he was held in place by the arm around his waist. “I thought I told you not to move.” He spoke again into his ear. Virgil stopped, and true to his earlier word, so did he. 

They lay there on the bed like that for the next half hour, but for Virgil it felt more like five hours. Eventually Damien sat up and stretched in bed, cracking his fingers, neck, and back. Sliding out of bed, he went over to his wooden wardrobe and pulled out a long black sleeved shirt and a yellow vest. Pulling open a draw on the bottom, he picked out a pair of slim black slacks that hugged his skin tightly, but left him room to breathe. His final touches were a pair of yellow gloves and a black bowler hat. Virgil didn’t watch, and he didn’t have to in order to get an idea of what he was wearing. He had a particular aesthetic that he likes to stick to. 

“The tailor should be arriving with the outfits I ordered.” Damien spoke up, fixing his hair in the mirror of his vanity, “I’ll have Danni deliver them you, so get dressed and she’ll escort you down.” Damien looked at his image in the mirror one more time, realigning the glass eye in his left socket, and then turned and strode over to Virgil, running his fingers though the others blond bangs. “It’s about time we got back in business.”

And with that, Damien went out the door, and the sound of it locking was heard before his footsteps began to fade down the stairs. 

Virgil waited until he was sure the other was gone to sit up, wincing as he did so and leaning his back into the headboard. Reaching up with his right hand, Virgil pulled at the yellow hair, glaring at it with contempt. The day after he had come here, just as Damien had said, his bangs were colored to symbolize his status, and then he was kept locked up in this room: no windows, one bolted door, and no way to escape. There wasn’t much to do in here during the day while Damien was away; there were a few books but he refused to touch them. When Damien was there, however, was the time he wished nothing would be done, but that rarely worked out in his favor.

Most days he would waste away his life lying or sitting on the bed or couch. He had a lot of time to his thoughts recently, something he had always hated, his thoughts would consume him at corrode his flesh. He lost himself a little more each day, his anger swelled higher with intensity, hatred bubbled up in him. Virgil knew that this was the plan, Damien’s goal to revert him back to how he was when they had met. 

Virgil had been around fifteen years old, and had been living with Patton for four years. His new dad had planning to move them into the tenth district for a few years and had even put a payment down on an apartment in the tenth district. But then the depression spread out further into the other districts and their plans fell through, and Patton had found himself drowning in an unbelievably large debt that he could never dream of paying off. He had already been working two jobs, which soon turned into one, and was exhausted from the constant hours he had to put up with in attempt to get enough to pay off the bank, but the interest made that impossible. Virgil hated seeing his dad like that and wanted to help him get rid of his debt, but he could barely cover the costs for scraps with the pathetic work he had found and knew that they’d need outside help.

Virgil hadn’t met him at that point, but he knew of the Stacks mob owner who practically ran their lives behind the scenes. It anyone would have enough to help them then it would be this man. Now he knows that it would have been better to be starved by the bank, then to have received aid from Damien; the man basically owned him now because of it.

Thoughts ran through his head as he sat there in anger, curious wonders of all the different outcomes that his life might have led up to if he had chosen different paths in life. If he hadn’t gone to Damien for assistance, where would he be now? What if he had chosen to run away with Patton and the boys? What if he had stopped Patton from putting that payment down on the apartment? What if he hadn’t chosen to steal food from Patton and had never met him? Where would he be now?

He shook his head, trying to shut out the thoughts, clasping his hands on his head, in his hair, curling up and falling onto his side.  _ No _ . He concluded.  _ None of that matters now _ .

The door unlocked, Virgil covered himself with the sheets, and the door swung open. Danni stepped in, bending her head down slightly to fit in under the lower doorway. She carried in three boxes, one large and two small, and dropped it next to him on the bed.

“The boss wants to see you now; get dressed.” She told him shortly with an envious glare. Virgil opened up the box once she stepped out again, inside were three outfits. One of them looked to be an all black suit with a royal yellow bow tie. He could understand why she would be so upset; it was scarce that anyone in the Stacks would ever be able to own such nice clothes, let alone someone of his status. Next he looked at the next two outfits underneath the first. This one was, once again, all black and looked to be a longed sleeve jumper. There as a short, black neck scarf that came with it, most likely to be used to hide his face, and black gloves, to hide his fingerprints. Under that was the final outfit, which he immediately detested upon seeing it. It was a black crop top and short shorts paired with fingerless gloves. Virgil swore to himself that he’d never wear that around Damien. 

In the other two smaller boxes were two pairs of footwear, one pair of nice dress shoes and combat boots.

Virgil grumbled, knowing he was wanted downstairs, and grabbed the outfit he knew he would be the most comfortable in, that being the jumper.

Once he had dressed properly he walked out the unlocked door and out through the short hall, descending from the stairs. Danni was waiting for him at the bottom and walked him over when he had reached the bottom. 

The curtains around his little throne were pulled back this time, and the light around him was brighter and more telling of his complexion. Damien laid on his back draped his slender legs off the arm of his chair and kicked them back and forth as a child would out of boredom, plucking red grapes from a vine. Virgil stood there and waited to be noticed, not wanting to purposefully draw attention to him. Thankfully, or rather not, Danni announced his arrival. Damien curled around in his chair, now resting on his side, and grinned at his outfit.

“I knew you would choose that one, my dear.” He stated, popping a grape into his mouth and chewed cheekily, “Although I can deny that I would have preferred you in that  _ other  _ one.” Virgil bit back his disgust and just continued to stare at him with a blank face. Damien frowned and sighed, sitting up properly. “It’s been a few year since I’ve required your skills. Tell me, are they still sharp?” Pulling out a case and a screwdriver from the ground beside his throne and threw them on the ground in front of Virgil’s feet. “Unlock it in ten seconds,” He pulled out a handgun from his waist pocket and cocked it, “Or die.”

He began to count and Virgil dropped to his knees, working quickly. He had it open in three, child’s play, Damien may be going easy on him. Said man clapped loudly and cheered recklessly, making a scene of him to all of the other patrons in the makeshift casino bar.

“Never lost it, huh? Marvelous!” He praised, “Now look inside.”

Virgil did as he said and looked inside. The case was filled with all different sorts of tools: screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, cutters, miniature saws, and throwing knives. To accompany all this was a utility belt in which to hold all of them. Even when he had worked for Damien a few years ago he didn’t have this much equipment of this quality.

“Now that we’re back in business I thought it appropriate to supply you with all the necessary tools.” Damien spoke, his voice closer than it was before. “Your first mission is in the Faun Museum of Science and Technology. My source says they have a rare metal in their archives that is quite valuable. It’s called adamantine, and I want you to steal it for me.”

Virgil looked at all of the provided tools and weapons right before him in the case. How easy it would be to swiftly grab a knife from the case and shove it into the man’s gut. It wouldn’t take long, if he was stealthy about it, no one would notice in time and he’d be able to plan an escape route.

He closed the lid instead.

“When do you want it by?”

 

…

 

Ten. How was it ten o’clock already? It seemed like it had only been thirty minutes since he arrived at the office at seven that morning, but apparently three hours had already passed him by. To be completely honest, Roman doesn’t even remember what he had been doing the entire time, but according to the paperwork on his desk, he had been going over some forms on something he didn’t even know about. 

Roman groaned for his loss of time, pinching his brows together in frustration. He stood up awkwardly, his muscles stiff from sitting in the same position for so long, and went over to his personal coffee maker by the window. As he waited for the machine to make his brew, Roman gazed out of his long glass wall that doubled as a window. The Provincial office building was a bit in the suburban district, up on a hill, overlooking the skyscrapers the city’s downtown area.

The past week had been rather boring and stressful, with not many opportunities for him to take a break being presented. As the Head of Security of Flor, it was Roman’s job to oversee all of the police departments and correctional facilities in every city and town; sixty-four of the former and seven of the latter. That meant that Roman had to go through reports from seventy-one offices across the province almost daily. Much of it was boring paperwork that was rather unnecessary in the end, but he had to be attentive with each document in case in turned out to be of grave importance.

That’s why he was frustrated that he had ended up slacking off a good portion of his morning and had mindlessly gone through his paperwork. Roman knew what had gotten him distracted, just as it had almost every day, or rather,  _ who _ had. That damn watchmaker gave him no leads as to who he is or why he was up in the rafters during Logan’s announcement. He found nothing that would allow the slightest bit of clarification for the boy’s intentions. Someone with the skill to break into a highly secured government building without being spotted was a threat that couldn’t be taken lightly.

Nevertheless, it appears that Roman had to take it lightly. This was not his job anymore; he ceased being a police officer once he was sworn into office and left behind the right to chase after individual criminals. He had to focus on the bigger picture here, and that was his job over the province’s safety. Roman hadn’t reported this occurrence to the police department yet because he wanted to be the one to turn the boy over, but now it seemed that he had no choice but to give up on his end.

The coffee maker beeped beside his hand, signaling that his drink finished brewing. Grabbing his favorite mug, with the label “Could Be Gayer!” on it, Roman filled it with coffee two-thirds of the way full, and then filled the rest with vanilla and hazelnut creamer and cane sugar. He returned to his seat and looked back through the documents he had evidently neglected, reading carefully, but skimming broadly to try and make up for lost time. 

By the time noon had rolled around, two hours later, Roman had almost nearly caught up on his work and had decided to skip out on lunch for the time being in favor of completing it. His assistant Diana Meyers, however, firmly disagreed with that notion.

“Sir please, you haven’t eaten since this morning, a short twenty minute break to eat won’t take long.” She told him from the opposite side of his desk, about to head out for lunch with a few of her colleagues as well.

“No thank you, Ana, I’m at  _ least _ a hundred and fifty pages behind schedule; I have to get this done. I’ll reward myself with some pizza afterwards.”

“Food should be a priority, not a reward, sir.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine, honestly I’m alright.”

Diana didn’t look too convinced, and in all actuality neither was he; he just said it so she’d stop babying him. At last, with an exasperated moan and a roll of her eyes Diana conceded.

“Fine, I’ll bring you back a sub.” She said, walking back for the door before halting, “Oh, you received a personal call today.” 

Roman looked up from his paperwork in curiosity since he solemnly received any personal calls, especially while he was at work.

“Who was it from?” He inquired.

“They said their name was Talyn, they wanted to tell you that they’re back in town.” She answered, turning back towards him away from the entrance, holding the glass door, which had a metal trim and handle, open with her ankle. 

Roman blinks a few times in surprise at hearing that name. Wordlessly he brought up his briefcase from the carpeted ground beside his desk and piled all of his paperwork in. Standing in haste, he went over to his coat rack and plucked off his beige jacket.

“Sir?” Diana called out in question, “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I simply forgot I had a previous engagement.” He smiled, slipping on his coat and walking through the door, “I’ll be back in perhaps a little over an hour or two, would you mind filing through my documents from most to least important?”

“You know I do, but I’ll do it anyways.” Diana said coyly, “Have a good lunch, sir.”

“I plan to.” Roman grinned, hitting the button for the elevator. As the machine took him down to the garage level, Roman pulled out his cellular and went to his contacts list with only three names in there. He clicked on the bottom icon, calling his friend that he hadn’t seen in years, and who was also an expert at finding people.  

  
  


Roman sat by himself in a lumpy booth in a small downtown diner, his paperwork sprawled on the tabletop before him. Approximately fifteen minutes had passed since he had arrived there, so he figured that he might as well work while he waited on Talyn. Roman had called them while he was on his way out of the compound and asked them to meet up for lunch. Their lunch break wasn’t exactly at the same time as his, so they said they’d be about twenty minutes late. That wasn’t an issue for him though since it allowed him an opportunity to catch up on this morning’s workload. 

A waitress had come up to him several times asking if he’d like a drink or appetite while he waited for the other half of his party, but each time he said he’d wait a bit longer, Roman didn’t want to start without them. Thankfully they arrived before the waitress could come over for the fourth time in row.

Catching the sight of bright green hair sitting atop of a short person, Roman waved his hand over, signaling to Talyn where he was sitting. He noted that they had grown out their hair and dyed it again. Back when they worked together as partners, Talyn would dye their hair about three times a year. Last time Roman had seen them before they were transferred to another city precinct two years ago; they had had short black hair.

“Hey Roman!” Talyn greeted, jogging over. They wore black, knee-length shorts and a grey checkered shirt with a white tie and a black blazer. Talyn had always had a unique sense of style and would usually refuse to wear uniform, much to the dismay of their chief.

“Hello Talyn, I see you look well.” Roman returned the greeting, standing up from the booth to give them a small hug. “I hope Sunville treated you well. Did you finish the case?”

“You know I did. All the evidence came down to a small splatter of blood left behind on a hand towel found two miles away from the scene in a trash can. This one was quite an interesting case! It was really peculiar because the murder weapon was-”

And before anyone could stop them, Talyn went into their little fantasy world, recollecting every single occurrence of her latest case. Two years ago a yoga instructor had gone missing, but her body was found three weeks later in a sewage pipe and she was almost unrecognizable. There wasn't much evidence to lead the police anywhere, so the police department in Sunville had called in a specialist, who was Talyn. Talyn is both a forensic scientist and a criminal detective who works all over Flor and often in other provinces. For a while the two of them had been partners when they worked on a case together three years ago.

“-The woman was sentenced to two life terms with no chance at parole. So yeah, I guess Sunville treated me well. How have you been? I heard you’re the new Head of Security.” Talyn gave him a smug look. Roman scoffed, shuffling his papers back in order needlessly.

“Yep I am, and here you thought I’d never become chief. I do believe you owe me five silver.”

“You didn’t become Chief, so I think I’ll hold onto it.” Talyn said plainly and patted their coat pocket. Their smile faded then, becoming more serious. “Now tell me what’s wrong, you’re facial expression is clearly screaming that you want to talk about something.”

Roman chuckled a bit and gave his head a small shake, placing his cupped hands on the table. He had been wondering how long it would take them to read his behavior; it was always a special talent Talyn had. Roman started from the beginning and told them about the first encounter with Logan on the street when he had a box and sheet thrown on his head. That got a laugh out of Talyn. Next he went over the spotting at City Hall and their shortly lived scuffle, how he managed to escape again through the vents, and his failed attempts at tracking him down afterwards.

“Are you obsessed with this guy?” Talyn asked when he had finished talking.

“What? No! At least not in  _ that _ way.” Roman fervently denied, blushing slightly at his friend’s indication, “I just have a very bad feeling about this kid. The skills he’s displayed in the short amount of times we’ve encountered each other tells me that he’s a dangerous threat to society. Lord knows why he was stalking Logan.”

“Seems to me like you’re obsessed.” They teased with a playful hum, but took on a more stoic nature within the next second, pulling out a pen and notepad. “Can you give a description of him?”

“He had black hair with a purple fringe. He was rather lanky and slim, probably only two or so inches shorter than me. His clothes were patched up and messy, wearing mostly black with a bit of purple.”

“You got a name or age?”

“No.” Roman confessed, his shoulders sagging, “I don’t actually have any real leads on him, but he looked to be around maybe nineteen.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Talyn grinned, clicking their pen closed with a satisfied pop, “That’s why you have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest chapter i've had to write so far, but I loved it so. I don't have much to say so yeah, but Joan and Talyn will most likely be ooc in this fic.  
> Big thanks to my friend for helping me edit this.


	8. Chapter 8

The brisk night air stung at the tip of his nose and earlobes, causing them to redden. Virgil sat atop of a high-rise building one block from the Faun Museum of Science and Technology, watching the building for any possible entrances. He had been given forty-eight hours to steal the adamantine and bring it back to Damien, and so far he had spent thirty-six hours scoping out the area, mapping the security path and schedule, and researching the general layout of the building and ventilation system. Yesterday, Virgil had taken advantage of the new suit he was… gifted to blend in with the crowd and look around himself, although he had to wear a top hat to hide his bangs since the color would give him away. Walking around gave him a simple idea of the layout, locating escape routes and places to avoid. Now he had to find a way in.

From the inside he could tell that there was an opening in the vents to the outside in the Northeastern section of the museum, so that’s where he had to go. The only issue is that the research vault was in the basement on the Southwestern section.

This was going to be risky.

Hopping from building to building carefully, never daring to look down once, holding onto his adrenaline to keep him going, Virgil landed on the glass, dome-shape roof, sliding down the side to avoid having his moonlit shadow be seen. He pressed up against the glass and watched the pathways of the security delicately, mentally mapping out the times in between each post. One hour. Two hours. Three hours. There was a fifteen minute span of time in which the two main hallways that connected the Northeast and the Southwest ends were clear of any guards.

Slipping away from the windows, Virgil went over to where he suspected the opening to be. Unlike city hall a few days ago, it was much smaller. Virgil gave an annoyed groan and got down on his knees in front of the air conditioning vent opening. He reached on to his belt and pulled off a small flashlight and shinned it on the grated cover, covering the light with his cupped hand to remain discrete. It was bolted in by four socket cap screws, meaning he’d need a hex key to unscrew them. Reaching into a small pocket on his utility belt, Virgil grabbed said required tool. It took several minutes to take out all of the screw, but once he did he gently discarded the cover on the side.

Going in feet first, Virgil pulled his backpack behind him in order to fit, and pushed himself backwards on his belly until he found an opening. The screws were different here, more flimsy and weak, so he only had to use a regular flathead driver Virgil watched carefully at the hallway under him for the guard, since he didn’t know where he was at the moment, until security safely passed, before he dropped down into the hall. That was a one way in, he couldn’t jump high enough to leave that way, and he’d have to find another way out. So far it seemed like his best way out is the door in the bathrooms, but they wouldn’t be open until eight when the museum opened, in five hours. Luckily for him, picking locks is second nature.

Tiptoeing through the dark halls, Virgil made his way cautiously to the Southwest wing, keeping an eye on all sides in case a guard decided to suddenly change his route. He made it there without a hitch. Now was the tricky part.

The door leading into the room where they kept most all the museum valuable artifacts that weren’t on display was alarm set. Based on his research and extensive knowledge of alarm systems from years in this field, the alarm would sound point two seconds after he opened the handle; he could disable it, but it would re-calibrate in two minutes, signaling both the security  and police department that there was a break in. Trouble was he didn’t know exactly where the adamantine was, and he had two minutes to find it in a huge vault of over a thousand items.

Virgil unlocked the door in fifteen seconds, and disarmed the alarm in thirty, but he didn’t open it right away. If he messed up by even the slightest, he’ll be caught. Sucking in a haggard breath, he pushed the door open, stepping in. The alarm didn’t go off. Rushing around, Virgil searched over the shelves, shining his light over the valuable relics. As he looked he stumbled upon a section labeled  **Terrestrial** . Virgil headed down the thin aisle, looking through the boxed, bottled, or jarred items. Then, there, on the shelf above his head he saw a dark platinum colored crude metal in a case--with the tag, Adamantine, written on the front. He let out a thankful breath of air and reached his hands upward towards the encased metal.

The alarm went off.

“Shit.” Virgil cussed under his breath.

Quickly he bagged the rare metal in his backpack and slung it over his shoulders, bolting for the door. Suddenly, however, the doors burst open before he could reach it and two guards came barreling in with tasers and batons in hand.

“Intruder!” One of them shouted, charging for him with a raised baton, aiming it down at him. Virgil dodged and slammed his back against one of the shelves. The guard aimed another blow for him, prompting him to grab a random object from behind him and throw it at the guard. It turns out what he threw was an ancient arrowhead, which pierced the guard’s shoulder. The man screamed and stumbled, dropping his baton on the floor.

“Sorry!” Virgil shouted, hopping over the fallen body, grabbing the discarded weapon. The guard’s partner came charging at him next, directing several blows at his body. Virgil ended up getting slammed in the side, but was able to his the weapon away with the stolen baton prior to slamming it into the other’s head, knocking him out. “I’m so sorry!” He apologized, taking a taser from their belt. 

Sprinting from the scene, Virgil climbed up the stairs and made his way for the bathroom, as exiting the front would be much too risky. There were a total of six security guards, and he had disarmed two. The path was clear for the most part on his way there, until he reached the last hallway just before the one that held the bathrooms, where a guard was place in the center, barreling for him.

“I command you to stop!” She yelled, pointing her taser at him as she attempted to restrain him.

“Sorry, but I don’t answer to you!” He responded with fake confidence, trying to push down the inner terror that was bubbling up. The scuffle didn’t last long, soon after they engaged each other Virgil was able to grab a hold of her wrist, pulling her into him and slamming his taser into her back, covering her mouth as he did so to muffle her scream so the other guards wouldn’t be alarmed to him.

In an instant the guard passed out, Virgil laid her on the ground next to the bathroom door, and then got to work. It was a simple lock, almost as simple as the case Damien had given to him as a test. Once the door was open, he clambered into one of the stalls and on top of one of the toilets under the window. Picking the window open, Virgil pushed his way out to freedom of a fifteen foot drop onto solid concrete. Falling down onto his side, rolling as he went to lessen the impact, he was able to make it out. Not wasting another second in that alley, with the sounds of sirens closing in, Virgil dashed down the alley, weaving his way through the inner maze of the streets until he came upon a building with a fire escape. Hauling his was to the top of the building, to what he believed was a secure spot away from his actions, Virgil threw off his backpack and fell onto his back, panting heavily as the adrenaline left his body, allowing the ache of his sore muscles to seep into his mind.

Virgil wasn’t certain how long he remained in that spot, but eventually the sky began to brighten, and the light of the sun streaked across the sky in the prelude to daybreak. He’d have to get back to the station before the sun rose completely if he wanted to make the first train. But for now, he’d just rest.

 

…

 

The Head of Security had been in the middle of snacking on a snickerdoodle and working through percentage files when his personal phone had gone off and had just about had a heart attack when it did so. It was only a little past seven in the morning, and his brain still wasn’t quite functioning. Roman looked down at the device mid-bite in surprise and grabbed it from its spot on the corner of his desk. A text message from Talyn had been sent.

**Talyn: Have you seen the news?**

**You: No, I just got into work. What’s up?**

**Talyn: Go to channel 5.**

Roman stared at the screen in mild concern for a moment before heeding the digital word’s advice, or rather demand. Walking out from his office and to the break room he found that the television was already turned on and had gathered a bit of a crowd. The news anchor was speaking mid sentence when he joined him, leaving him in the dark of anything she had spoken of previously.

“What’s going on?” He asked the closest person to him, sitting on the couch.

“Someone robbed the Faun Museum last night.” They told him shortly, barely taking their eyes of the screen. Roman gasped and looked back to the news with newfound interest.

_ “-unknown how the criminal entered the building, but it is assumed that they had escaped by picking the lock on the men’s bathroom window and climbing out. Authorities believe that this was the point of entry, however, and most likely an improvised escape route. The perpetrator has yet to be identified, although security described the criminal as a young male dressed in all black with his face half covered from the nose down. However, due to bad lighting, no other features were able to be distinguished.” _

Another text buzzed in before he had the proper time to process what he was watching.

**Talyn: Is it possible that this is your guy?**

Roman stepped to the back of the room away from the crowd, but still close enough to hear what was going on. He knew what he was discussing was out of his boundaries, and perhaps even misconduct, but he couldn’t risk someone eavesdropping in on his message.

**You: Maybe, but I’m not sure.**

**Talyn: The case is vague so far, but there are some similarities.**

**Talyn: Shall I request to be put on assignment?**

**You: It’s too early to tell, but maybe just to be safe.**

No reply was sent back.

The newscast was now on the police force, interview a head officer on their plans to tackle the crime and bring the perpetrator to justice. The officer simply promised that the best of their force was on the case and that they’d have the thief behind bars in no time. Roman scoffed at this. He  _ was _ their best and even he had found no such luck finding this guy, let alone catching him. That is, if these two were one in the same.

It was undeniable that there appeared to be similarities between this case and the run in he had with that kid, but there was no solid proof that could confirm this suspicion. After all, it is entirely possible that more than one scrub from the streets knew how to pick locks. But Roman didn’t believe in coincidence. This was something else entirely. It took more than just picking locks to break into the compound of the museum's vault. It took more than just a scrub to slip in unnoticed into the City Hall while the Senator’s guards were set up. This person was something else entirely.

The news had moved on to a new story, one he didn’t bother staying around long enough to listen to. Roman made his way back to his office, picking up a new stack of paperwork from Diana as he passed by her desk, and settled himself back into his work. Yet the story lingered in the back of his thoughts.

His phone went off once more.

**Talyn: I’m on the case. I’ll send you updates whenever something comes up.**

 

...

 

Cars putter on the road in both directions past them as Patton walked the boys to school. It had been two days since his boss, Senator Logan Winchester, had offered to enroll his two sons, and although their first day at school was on a Friday, he had insisted they not wait until the next week like Patton wanted to send them off. Patton reluctantly accepted his wishes, not wanting seem ungrateful for his boss’s gracious gift.

The school Thomas and Emile would be attending was called Eastern Heights Academy, and held kids from kindergarten to eighth grade. The boys had been measured for and given their uniforms, schedules and textbooks yesterday, so they had already had a small peak at the school. Wearing the same clothes it was even harder to tell the two apart, both of them being dressed in khaki trousers and white shirts with dark brown blazers. The only thing that set them apart was Emile’s little, red glasses. The school itself was comprised of several different buildings that all looked the same; just looking at them from the front gate was making Patton confused.

Dozens of other families and children walked around them, heading into the campus grounds without the slightest hesitation; and even though they were dressed the same, Patton could tell that they stood out. Other parents looked at them curiously and distrustfully, steering their children away from them, as if they contracted a horrid disease. These families knew, that they knew, that they didn’t belong. They reeked of an unlikeness from all the rest. Thomas and Emile, however, did not notice the odd stares they attracted. The two boys simply padded along while looking around at their surroundings in perplexed wonder. They had heard of school before, mainly from stories their older brother Virgil told them, but nothing they had ever been told lived up to the actual experience. Virgil had whispered about schoolhouses there they sat in lines and learned things before they ate the legendary school lunch, but this was no mere house, it was full of gigantic buildings that towered as high as most Stacks. 

Slipping his hand from his grasp, Thomas ran away from Patton and his twin brother, running over to the decorative fountain that sat in the center of the cobbled court. Patton shouted in surprise when he felt the boy leave his side and chased after him frantically to keep the young boy in his sights amidst the sea of people.

A couple who stood watching as he passed spoke hushedly to each other, coving their daughter’s ears so she could not hear their words. “Look at that buffoon,” The prude woman said pointedly with a gesture, “They act as if they had just escaped a zoo.” The man, her husband, looked along with her in disdain for the sight. “They must have connections in order to attend here; you think he’s an heir?” He questioned aloud, his voice full of scorn. The woman let out a sarcastic puff of air. “Doubtful, must be a free loading excuse of a relative. Suppose he has a partner?” The husband let out a hot laugh. “If he did the poor thing was most likely left. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was raising those boys on his own.”

Patton struggled to keep track of Thomas, the boy’s small form nearly fading away in the dense crowd of little uniforms, but, thankfully, Thomas stopped running once he reached the fountain, allowing Patton catch up with him, with Emile on his heels and in his hand.

“Papa look!” Thomas announced in excitement, “A public bath! Like the ones you always told us about!” Patton inwardly groaned, but outwardly smiled, a sad smile.  _ This is why he ran away? _

“No, Thomas, this is a fountain. It’s for decoration not bathing.” Patton continued to walk towards the first classroom listed on their schedule, which was graciously the same for both of them; he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like for them to separate in a place such as this. Thomas followed after, grabbing onto his dad’s outstretched hand, pulling on his arm and dragging his feet.

“Why would they want to decorate something with water? That much could feed the Stacks for-”

“Thomas.” Patton said sternly, crouching down on a knee to face them both. HIs face had lost all of its usual color and brightness, appearing unfamiliarly dim and pale. “Emile. Listen to me. Under no circumstance do you  _ ever _ mention the Stacks. Don’t tell anyone you lived there. Don’t tell anyone you’ve been there. Don’t let anyone know you even know about it.” He commanded quietly, staring them down gravely.

“But why?” Thomas asked with a pout.

Patton frowned solemnly, standing back to his feet and reenacting their walk, “You’ll understand one day.” He told them eventually.

Thomas frowned and crossed his arms, taking his hand out of Patton’s grasp to sulk, glaring at the stone ground. Emile looked at his brother, then at his adoptive father, then at the people around them. For the first time he noticed the looks, but he didn’t understand what they meant. He peered closer and observed the adults and even the children. The difference was slight, very minuscule, but he saw it as if it were a mountain range. It was the way they held themselves. His family of  three walked without clarity, the others made each step out to be a statement of who they or their family was; their stance was lost and unbelonging, the others was with confidence and placement; their speech was lazy and dense, the others was diligent and sharp. 

They shared shape, biological makeup, skin and blood; but their natures were a dichotomy. And Emile knew that this was all that the others saw, only differences, not similarities.

  
  


Patton sat in his bedroom, his time free with his boss being at work and not in need of him, a catalogue on the table in front of him. He swiped through the pages, looking at different things he and the boys needed. There were several pages for mail order clothes, shoes, and other such necessities. There were even toothbrushes! Back in the Stacks one could only dream of having one of those, but with his first paycheck due in two days he should be able to afford them along with some new shirts and briefs, and perhaps even some toothpaste as well.

Although they had been living there for almost two weeks, Patton couldn’t believe that this was his life. Twelve days ago he was struggling to put food into his and the boy’s stomach, he lived in constant fear that he may be mugged and be given his last day, or he be robbed blind from his bus, although it wouldn’t be the first or only time it had happen. He woke in the morning to the soft sound of chirps and the light rumble of distant cars on the suburban road, instead of the angry yells of raging brawls and the cries of hungry children.

He didn’t miss it, nothing could ever make him miss living in the Stacks, but he couldn’t forget it either. His mother, who had been born in a better district to a better life, made her mark there, holding her own in any brawl, threatening the gang leaders herself and never paying them a cent. His father, who had been chosen by the government in their ten year random selection and forced to live there in order to balance out the poverty, had told him, before he died when Patton was four, that their real family and community was in the Stacks and that no amount of money could buy the bond of kin. His family hadn’t come to the Stacks willingly, but they had built a family and life there, and so did he. He had found Virgil feral and starving, never knowing his parents. He had taken in Thomas and Emile when they were orphaned from a childhood playmate who was unjustly imprisoned, their mother dumping them on him after she gave birth. Over the years he had built a life, a family, and a home in the Stacks; just as his parents once did.

But now that was all gone. Virgil was still there. He and the boys had left. This mansion, no matter how nice and elegant, was not home. The people here, not matter how charming, are not community. Patton had wanted to leave the Stacks the moment he took in Virgil, and he didn’t regret his choice to leave; but he couldn’t ignore it as a part of him either. The other parents stare at him as a zoo patron would look at a monkey lost in a bird exhibit. He wanted to be like them, he wanted to assimilate and try to live an easier and peaceful lifestyle, but an ape did not have wings or feathers. They have hands and fur.

Patton looked away from the magazine catalog and over at his hands, calloused and hard from seasons of working hard, most often just scraping by. His arms were lightly tanned and singed from working by the scolding flames of the furnace. His back was slightly slouched from the endless hours of bending over and hauling materials. His hair was curly, untamed, and uneven, never once seeing a comb or a proper barber. No matter what he wore, he’d always look like a stranger. But he’d rather look familiar in the mirror, than odd in the eyes of others.

He may not have the wings to fly to social heights, but he had the hands to climb above others thoughts of him. And climb he shall.

 

...

 

The time was nearing nine o’clock in the morning when Virgil walked the long distance from the district thirteen station back to the Stacks. His legs burned with soreness and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. The nearly unbearable weight of the adamantine metal slowed him down in his steps, shifting his body down in a hunch of shame; and not from the physical heaviness, although that certainly was a factor, but from the heaviness of his actions.

The streets were beginning to fill, but even so no one came near him. It didn’t matter if he was in the busiest of crowds in the Stacks. The statement of his hair was a vibrant signal that was known to all. That he was property of Damien Deceit and if he is so much as touched the offender would meet a worse fate. This was a reason Virgil never had any friends besides the fact that he was just a shitty person in general. When he first had his hair dyed five years ago he had tried to hide it from Patton by wearing beanies or his hood up, but it wasn’t to last. He never told Patton the specifics of what he did for the mob boss, just that he owed a debt, but he was never able to reassure him completely.

With an easy push of the door he entered the hellish building and was met by Dillon at the front door. Dillon had always hated him, and the feeling was mutual.

“The-” 

“Damien wants to see me, yeah yeah.” Virgil waved the tall brute dismissively, pushing his way past him. He heard Dillon growl angrily but felt no physical attempt against him by the man. Pretty much ever since they had met each other there had been a silent bet over whether Virgil could make him snap. He had been unsuccessful thus far but was aware that it would most likely never happen if Dillon wanted to keep his hands.

The mob boss wasn’t on his throne as usual, this time he was amongst his subordinates playing dice. Damien always had a love for gambling but a sore losing streak when it came to random. But no one dare boast if they ever bested him in a game of chance. It was games of strategy in which he dominated, ruling over poker every time he played, forcing his opponents to fold, even if they had a royal flush, out of fear. 

He noticed him as soon as he walked up, jumping away from his game.

“Ah, Virgil! Did you get me my metal?”

Virgil’s reply was a lazy hand reaching into his backpack and pulling out the metal, handing it over.

“Much obliged, my pet.” Virgil cringed at the nickname. “Hm. It’s much smaller than I would have expected. I assume you weren’t seen?”

Shit. He forgot about that rule.

“Well?” Damien questioned noticing his hesitation. “You. Weren’t. Seen. Right?”

“T-t-the room and alarm protected, I wasn’t able to disable it long enough to-”

Damien grabbed him roughly by the face, clenching his cheeks in his fist. All remote feeling of easy that he had clanged onto when he walked in was now demolished.

“Do you want to try again?” He asked in a too cheery voice.

“I-it’s b-been a few years and I-I-”

Damien slammed his head into the poker table, startling everyone who had gathered around to watch, scattering the cards and chips across the top and ground. Virgil’s head buzzed with pain and he became disoriented.

“Wrong answer.” He said in a singsong voice. Ripping Virgil back into his feet the gangster brutality dragged him off upstairs to his room, disregarding all the other patrons and guards as if they didn’t exist.

“Damien please-” He begged as he was dragged up the stairs and through the bolted door, “I’m just a bit rusty, it won’t happen again. The menacing man tsked and threw him harshly to the cold floor.

“Cut the bullshit, Virgil, you don’t have to  _ lie _ to me.” He grinned wickedly, eyeing him trembling body up and down. “This has nothing to do with the fact that it’s been a few years, or that the metal was heavily guarded. Oh no. It’s because you  _ wanted _ to be caught, huh?”

“Wha- I didn’t.”

Virgil yelped when Damien placed a foot on his shoulder, forcing him to lie down.

“I’m sure you were aware that I kept tabs on you while you were away. Just to see how my pet was doing. And boy, you won’t believe how  _ proud _ I was to see that you hadn’t changed one bit.”

“N-no I-” He tried to deny it, but found no words.

“All the newspapers you got for Patton saying you got them from the trash? Stolen right from the booth and then held for a few days to make it seem true. The clothes you got the two little snots for their birthday last year? Taken from a drying line in the ninth district. And of course,” he chuckled, “The ID papers for the whole family bribed away from my old toy Remy. You see, you’re no different now from when you left. Stealing and working in the black market, that’s all you’re really good for, no matter how hard you try to paint yourself as an honest businessman to everyone else.”

Virgil had long since stopped fighting, resigning to just lay there under his boot. Each word, each sentence, each phrase was like a kick to the gut by Damien. Perhaps it was, because hadn’t even realized that his cheek was being caressed until the man had brought Virgil up in his arms.

“Stop trying to kid yourself. This is where you belong. This is what you are meant to do.”

 

...

 

Everything around the manor was beginning to be altered around in preparation for their employer’s approaching absence. Elise was preparing all the necessary alterations to all of their schedules and moving all of Senator Winchester’s engagements to a later date after he was due to be back. Ahmed contacted the Senator’s guard over all necessary steps that needed to be taken to ensure his safety; although he himself wouldn’t be accompanying him like Patton would have assumed he would by request of the Senator himself. 

As for Patton and Jamie, the two of them were simply getting ready to have lighter work days. The two of them would still be doing their jobs, Patton being under contract to cook for the other servants as well and Jamie still having to clean around the manor, but unlike the others they didn’t have to change much.

Patton wasn’t sure how he felt about it all. He had been hired here as a cook, yet he barely did any cooking. It was certainly odd, but he guessed it wasn’t unwelcome. He was grateful that he was given lodging and food, and that his boss had graciously offered to enroll his boys. Perhaps he’d be able to cook more when Senator Winchester came back from whatever trip he was taking.

At the moment, Patton was utilizing his spare time to go to the tenth district train station for a very specific reason. It was Friday and nearing ten in the morning. Patton had made a promise to Virgil to always be there so they could see each other, and he planned to keep it. He had been a little put off when Virgil hadn’t been there last week, but not because he thought Virgil had forgot or didn’t care; he was worried that something had kept him from showing up. And that that something was actually Deceit. 

Yes. He knew about Deceit. No matter how hard Virgil tried to hide it, he saw the signs, but regretfully he was unable to protect his son. He wasn’t able to take him out of that situation, or stop it, that’s why Patton was so against leaving him in the Stacks. Bless Virgil for being an angel but that boy was too stubborn, refusing to leave in order to protect them. He swore that if he didn’t have the twins he’d march into Deceit’s place and take care of him himself.

But for now, the only thing he could do for Virgil was to offer support and be there for him. If only would show up so he’d be able to.

Patton waited around the station entrance, setting himself down in a bench, searching the many faces that came and went for his son. Time passed before he knew had become aware. Ten minutes turned to thirty, which turned to an hour which turned to two. Patton was obligates to make lunch, and as much as he wanted to keep waiting, he couldn’t stay. He waited five minutes more. Then left.

 

…

 

He pushed his way out of the crate building into the busy streets of the central stack area, where bootlegged items and half rotten, or completely rotten, food were sold. The setting sun beats against his back as Virgil strode for his stack, where his little crate sat on the very top. He hadn’t been back there in the past two weeks, having been holed up in Damien’s room and out on his mission. All he wanted was to lie down on his shitty bed and work on a new watch, just like he used to.

The dirt pathways, not so much as roads, were swarming with bodies pushing and shoving each other to get through and to whatever destination they were heading to. Rows of booths lined the edges with their fares, the salesmen and women shouting for pedestrians to come and buy. Virgil was passing one such booth selling fabric dye, the lean old man calling tiredly for buyers, small vials of several colors displayed openly. One being a very small bottle of purple, probably not even enough to color a patch.

He stared in calculation at the booth, spotting opportunity and weakness. The old man had his eyes focused on the crowd, he wouldn’t even notice.

Casually strolling by, Virgil swiftly palmed the purple dye and walked away, blood pulsing in his veins. No one noticed and nothing changed. Everything and everyone went on as usual. He hadn’t been caught.

Virgil stopped walking; only making it about fifteen feet away from the booth and the old man he had just stolen from. A cold deathly fear of realization clawed at him and threatened to swallow him whole.

Virgil went back to the booth.

“Excuse me sir!” Virgil called, catching the old man’s attention, “How much for the purple?”

“Dat ‘ere is a nice one. Expensive too.” The old man confessed a warm smile on his wrinkled face.

“I’m sure it is. Purple is a sacred color after all.” Virgil agreed, twirling the bottle in his hands. “Used to only be available to royalty.”

“Well if them sons-a-bitches up in de high place ‘re royalty nowadays, then I guess so.” The man spat with a shrug of his crooked shoulder. “Fift’n bronze should do ‘er.” 

“Hmm,” Virgil hummed, pretending to mull over the price, “How about two silver instead?” He offered, as if the amount he just offered was probably more than what the man made in a week.

“Almighty above, where you gettin’ that kinda money?”

“Nowhere any regular folk would wanna be.” Virgil put the money on the table and waved goodbye, the dye in his palm. “Bye mister.”

He then walked away without looking back or stopping.

By the time he made it back to his crate as he had first wanted, he had lost any of his original interest to work on a watch or even to lie down. Instead he just sat on the cold metal floor, staring at the dye he had just bought, and almost hadn’t.

The thought back to the words Damien had told him earlier.

_ “This is where you belong. This is what you are meant to do.”  _

He had denied it then because he had hopelessly wanted him to be wrong. But what he had almost just done proved otherwise.

The fear he had felt earlier, when he robbed the old man, and more it importantly, when he and robbed the museum, had just threw the past three years in his face.

The fear came not from the fact that he broke the law, that he was almost caught, that he could be caught and locked behind bars for the rest of his miserable life, or even from the fact that he’s being forced to do this by Damien against his will. It came from the horridly twisted truth that he loved it. Oh  _ god _ \- how he loved it. The adrenaline rush that courses through his veins, the stress that came with every breath, the physical strain on his limbs as he pushes them to their limit to run and fight. The whole feeling was intoxicating. It made him feel in control of his life for once. 

Virgil  _ likes _ stealing. Dare say he even  _ loved _ it.

That was exactly the reason why he had been desperate to stop in the first place. Virgil knew that what he was risking was dangerous, that he could get the death penalty for the amount of millions he had stolen, and when Patton had decided to take in the twins, Virgil had decided to make a change. He was an older brother now, even if not by blood, and he wanted to be there for them. The boys’ real father was in jail, he didn’t want to do that to them again.

So he had managed to persuade Damien to let him go. He started his own little business selling clocks and watches, trying to become an honest man. It was rough most of the time, his works not always selling well, but he was able to help Patton and the boys get by. Being able to help them was all that he ever wanted in the first place.

But now they were gone, safe and healthy up in the high life, probably going to school and eating enough every night. And he was stuck here. In the Stacks. Once again under the control of possibly the most powerful man in the entire province, feeding his addiction to where he leaned on it like a crutch. Only two weeks had gone by and already he was turning back into who he used to be, who Damien wanted him to be. As if everything he had done to protect his family had meant squat.

Virgil twiddled with the dye in his fingers, rubbing his hand over the label. It wasn’t the same shade he had before, this one was a bit darker, but it was still purple. It wouldn’t cover much, but it’ll do the job.

He opened the bottle of dye and took a small bunch of hair from his blond bangs and dipped it into the bottle. Rubbing the dye through the strands he gazed as he watched yellow become purple as it dried. 

Virgil pushes his blond bangs back into its place and looked into a cracked mirror he had discarded on the ground. The new streak was hidden from sight, good; Damien would definitely punish him if he saw this act of defiance.

 

…

 

The day was long and boring as usual, his work painfully mind-dulling and energy strapping. But it was his duty. In and out it was. In truth he didn’t remember any of the details from during the day, although there were a few reports on rises in arrest for being under influence and illegal alcohol and drug trafficking; but everything else was something lame like speeding rates. Roman mulled over ways he could tackle the drug and alcohol issue, but his brain was too muddled at the moment to think of a coherent plan.

Then there were the theft reports. Theft was always on the lower side of criminal activity in the province of Flor. That was until a few years ago when there had been a spike.

Five years ago it had all erupted when a visiting crystal exhibit was visiting the capitol. The ancient crystals had been unearthed in the deep caverns in the neighboring province, Mayflower. There had been several crystals and gems there, but the most valuable was the largest black diamond ever found on earth, which had been under the heaviest security possible. But on the last day of the exhibit, every single soul had been shocked to find that the black diamond had been lost. The search to hunt down the criminal went on for years and has officially been marked cold. But that was just the beginning of a long trail of different cases when the improbable came to fruition. These actions had then inspired many more criminals to act out, and the police force had begun to become overworked. By that time it was Roman’s first year on the force, and although he hadn’t personally worked on it, since he was in the homicide decision, he could see the toll it took on his colleagues around him.

It had carried on for three years, and then just suddenly stopped. The police and investigators couldn’t explain it, most thought that the person must have gotten bored and moved on, or that he had somehow died. Both ways, the case ended and the theft rates dropped again with it.

But now this report came in, with it is painstaking resemblance to the old, but not forgotten, case. Roman wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. As far as he knew, his guy wasn’t a thief and rather just a lone trespasser with his own agenda; that held the skills necessary to do the deed. He couldn’t make a judgment yet, but Roman felt himself hoping that these two were one in the same. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this was late again, I got busy and had a bit of lacking enthusiasm. But I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter.  
> Does the character development seem fast? I'm trying my best to take my time but I feel like I'm rushing it. I dunno maybe it's just me.  
> Welp, see y'all in the next update!


	9. Chapter 9

Logan’s private jet was due to leave the airport at eight in the morning, the flight would take approximately four hours from Flor to Moors; he and his deputy were due for a meeting at noon and they’d most likely be late. It couldn’t be helped, in the world of politics, arriving to a meeting late was a commodity. His Deputy Senator, and good friend, Joan, had spent the night in one of his guest rooms to make the trip to the airport easier and less strenuous. 

For the moment, Logan was getting prepared and dressing himself for the day. In the not too distant past, Logan wouldn't have been allowed to take care of it himself, and would have had the assistance of a chambermaid instead, but that lifestyle had been abandoned some years ago. His cleaner and groundskeeper, Jamie, was currently packing his suitcases, while his butler, Elise, was organizing his briefcase with all of his necessary paperwork and files. Once he was finished Logan made his way out from his quarters and down to the dining room. He had requested a farewell meal with all of his staff before he went. It couldn’t last more than thirty minutes with the little time he had, but it was something at the very least. Although he did feel slightly guilty for his short term request of his chef, only notifying him the night before, the bubbly man showed no sign of resentment and actually appeared quite excited. 

Logan made it down to the ground floor and walked across the grand marble floors to the large door that opened to the dining room, but was stunted by the giggles he heard from the room across from it, the ballroom. That room was rarely opened by anyone, only by Jamie for dusting, and even less so by him, and yet a very prominent voice was definitely coming from there. Gently padding over to the other side of the hall, Logan lightly pushed the door open and peeked in slightly to get a look at whomever it was making the racket. Surprisingly, but not so, his chef’s two sons were currently playing in the room, having shifted the furniture to form a makeshift fort of some kind. 

Thomas, he remembered was the young boy’s name, stood on top of a table, stick in hand, commanding an invisible army to advance on his brother. Emile, in turn, sat behind a barricade of chairs, and commenced an aerial attack on the foot soldiers, stunting the advance. Thomas pouted and stomped his little foot in anger. 

“No fair! You’re supposed to let me reach the tenth district and engage in combat!” He proclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at his brother.

“The enforcers don’t have to play fair, rat scum!” Emile shouted back. Then, moving on his tiny legs into a light run, he charged over to a moved bench, which appeared to symbolize a marked point. “District eleven is mine! Now you can’t make any more weapons!”

Logan watched their game for an undetermined amount of time, too entranced with their playing to keep track of what he himself was doing. He found himself slightly disturbed by the easiness in which the boys were able to act out such things as the horrors of war like they were any ordinary school yard game. However, he was finally snapped out of it when a voice called out to him down the hall, pulling his attention away from the two boys.

“Sir?” His chef, Patton Sanders, walked up to him, pushing a cart of food along with him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I was just distracted with your sons. They appear to be playing some form of military game.”

“Hm? Oh yes, it’s their favorite game. Where are they at?”

Logan gestured to the inside of the ballroom, to which the man followed and looked in. A gasp left him when he noticed the absolute mess his sons had created, charging in and putting a stop to their game. The two boys argued that they hadn’t meant to make a mess, or that it was the other’s fault, but Patton didn’t want to hear it and told them to put everything back to the way it was. 

“I’m so sorry for their behavior, Senator Winchester; they’re not usually like this.” Patton profusely apologized, bowing his head. Logan shook his head and made a gesture with his hands for him to lift his head, never liking how it felt for others to bow to him.

“Please, just Senator Logan will do; and it is no problem. Nothing was broken or damaged, I’m rather pleased that room could be put to use for something for once.” Logan told him, giving a glance back to the boys as they sorrowfully cleaned up their game, “Although I am curious as to the back-story of their game. It almost appeared as a reenactment of a past battle.” Patton noticeably went stiff at the notion, shifting his eyes up, down, to the side, anywhere that was not Logan’s face, appearing that much more wary.

“Ah well, um, you see we, uh, used to live across from an ex military veteran that used to tell the boys stories, and they, uh, sometimes like to act out her stories.” He explained unconfidently. Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly at his disposition. 

“Oh? What was her name if I may ask?”

“Aliya Shelley.” He answered with much more surety as if they were a real person, and perhaps they truly were. Yet that didn’t stop the suspicion Logan felt from his previous behavior. Logan nodded his head at his response and their conversation ended there, with the two of them simply standing there in the hallway in silence somewhat awkwardly. Logan suddenly realized how interrogating he must have sounded in their conversation, acting as if he was trying to convict Patton of a wrongdoing, which was not his intent. He shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet and Patton cleared his throat.

“Well, I, uh, better set the table for breakfast.” He announced, stepping backwards towards the food cart.

“Of course,” Logan agreed, stepping to the side for him to pass safely by, “I’ll wait for your call when everything is prepared.”

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

Patton pushed the cart into the next room, the door coming to an indecisive close when he passed through, Logan watching as he went. He turned his eyes to the floor after he went and heaved an exhausted sigh once he believed to be alone, running a tired hand through his neatly combed, dark-chestnut hair. Alas, the coy voice of his, regrettably, dear friend brought his attention back up and over to the hallway entrance.

“Flirting so early in the morning?” Joan jested, practically skipping over to him, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I don’t.” Logan grimaced, walking past them towards his sitting room, not wanting to wait around in the hall for the meal to be announced. “I was simply speaking with one of my employees, nothing more.”

“Uh... yeah, no, that looked nothing like talking from where I was standing.” The Deputy Senator laughed, making a beeline for the sitting room’s bar once they walked in. Logan let out a huff at this, never being fond of his friend’s love of morning drinks. 

“And what exactly did it look like?” Logan shot back with a glare, laying back in a recliner. Joan fixed themselves a mimosa and made their way for the couch opposite of him, proposing their legs up on the coffee table much to Logan’s distaste.

“Well definitely not ‘just talking.’” They laughed, “You looked like you were either threatening or seducing him before you quickly reverted back to your socially awkward self.”

“Well then you must be blind, because I was doing neither. I was simply asking him about the game his two sons were playing in the other room.”

“Family man, huh? He  _ must _ be your type.” Joan chuckled, leaning their cheek into their palm and propping their head up on the arm of the couch. “So what were they playing?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not exactly sure.” Logan confessed, picking at the cloth of his cuffs, “It appeared to be some kind of play war, but they way they were doing it seemed as if they were acting out a historic battle or something specific. They even used the terms ‘rat scum’ and ‘enforcers’.”

Joan sat up as he retold the silly game he had witnessed, sobering up from their earlier playful mood, a more grave expression taking over their face. They placed the lower half of their face into their palm, rubbing at the scruff of their beard as they looked off into deep space in thought.

“What were these  _ enforcers _ doing?” Joan asked finally after a widely stretched out moment. Logan thought back to the two boys, trying to remember exactly what they were doing.

“They were marching through pieces of furniture that represented the districts, and using aerial attacks on the opposing troops.” He provided in response. Joan’s expression grew grimmer at hearing this. The deputy didn’t speak for a while more, inviting a tense atmosphere to settle over the room. Logan wondered what it could all possibly mean and what it was that Joan knew. Sure this was all stirred up from two six-year-olds innocently playing a game together, yet the subject of their play was anything but innocent. Logan didn’t understand it and an uneasy feeling wormed its way into the pit of his stomach.

The discussion ceased there when Patton walked in to announce that breakfast was prepared, but it was not to be forgotten. Joan and Logan exchanged a look of understanding before they got up and left for the dining room. They’d pick this back up later.

Today, everyone was served pancakes with a fresh strawberry sauce, accompanied with sides of hash browns, sausage, and avocado. It was all splendid as usual, Patton’s clear skill evident as ever, but it did not last. The two officials had to dine and dash to get to the airport on time, even though the plane wouldn’t take off without them. The boys had joined them at breakfast as well, since everyone in the household had been invited, but they had scattered as soon as they had finished their food, not liking the stiffness that the adults brought. Yet, despite it being short lived, Logan noticed the proud smile Patton wore at seeing everyone enjoy his food. Joan made on off-hand remark that Logan should marry him for his skills, but he just rolled his eyes and waved them off. After all that it wasn’t necessary for Logan to marry the man just so he’d cook for him, he had already hired Patton to do just that.

The car had already been packed with their belongings when they exited the building, so, with an earnest goodbye to his house staff, they simply climbed in and were on their merry way to the airport. Logan watched as his home and city went by, always hating to leave for the summit. While this would only be his third summit since becoming Senator, he had lived through enough hours of endless Senator bullshit to last him a lifetime at the tender age of twenty-eight.

 

…

 

Grey light shined through the thin, red satin curtains hung over his large floor-to-ceiling windows, falling directly on Roman’s delicate but strong features, gently waking him from his peaceful slumber. With a mighty yawn and a great stretch of his long limbs, Roman kicked off his covers and rolled off his bed, taking to his feet and headed for his bathroom to wash up, and then went to his closet. After ten minutes of trying to choose an outfit, he settled on an all grey suit with a white button up and a red, checkered tie. It was simple, but rather attractive if he did say so himself.

Stepping out into the rest of his apartment Roman grabbed his keys and wallet off of his kitchen counter and left for the door, plucking up his briefcase from the coffee table as he passed by. He took the elevator down to the garage and walked to his car, climbed in and went on his way, planning to make a quick stop at his favorite espresso shop before heading into work. The city was bustling with good and honest people as always. Roman watched the people that went by him as he got his morning coffee, a lawyer there, a businesswoman here, and perhaps a talented doctor beside him. Such a diverse group of respectable citizens all living in the city. A concrete jungle with skyscrapers that reached well above head. A place of opportunity and freedom for all who wished. There may be a so called “economic depression” going on somewhere else, but here, everything was perfect.

Taking up his order from the lovely barista behind the counter, a caramel frappuccino and a chocolate croissant, Roman turned back for his car and went on his merry way to work. Roman decided to turn on the radio during his commute and was almost immediately agitated by the news story being played, sobering him up from his relaxed mood.

_ “Last night, well-renowned entrepreneur, founder, and CEO of the Lily Pad Corporation, Henry Mio, had his home broken into with millions worth of personal belongings taken by an unknown suspect. The mansion’s security cameras showed nothing but a figure cloaked in all black clothing that came in and out of a second story window within the span of half an hour. Police speculate that this figure could very well be the same man from the Faun Museum incident. Law enforcement promises a quick retribution for whomever is at fault.” _

Roman’s grip on his steering wheel tightened as he listened intently to the anchor’s voice through his car radio, hanging on every word as if it would determine his future. When the story ended, he turned off his radio and rode the rest of his commute in silence.

_ “Roman,”  _ Logan’s voice echoed in his head, _ “tomorrow I’ll be leaving the well-being of the province solely in the hands of the council. Now, if I’m being honest with you, I don’t trust those five too get much done without my supervision. So please, just make sure the province doesn’t catch on fire while I’m gone.” _

The words spoken to him yesterday evening by his best friend just before the two of them had left the office still rang clearly in his ears. They filled him with some kind of new strength and purpose, knowing that out of the literal dozens of governmental officials in their province, Logan had put his confidence in Roman to take care of things. Of course he hadn’t been officially promoted or set as acting senator, but having his faith felt just the same.

Yet, at the same time, Roman felt a compact feeling of guilt settle in his gut at the fact that he had Logan’s utmost trust to maintain conduct; because he was technically already breaking that conduct.

Pulling his car into his designated parking spot, near the front of the building, Roman got out and set out for the government building he worked at. While he was on his way, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Talyn: Another robbery last night in the upper 2nd district. No solid evidence, but it may be our perp.**

It had only been four days since the big heist at the museum and ever since then there have already been five large cases of break-ins and robberies, each one revealing even less proof than the last. Perhaps the first one had been a slip up in nearly being caught, but each case after had been slick and clean. No sightings, fingerprints, hair samples, or anything else that could reveal their identity. The only substantial evidence of the robberies ever taking place were small signs of forced entry through windows and other small entryways, never though the door, and the odd blurry photo on a security camera.

**You: Can you try to pin down where he’ll be next?**

Roman pushed the button for the elevator and climbed in, hitting the number of his floor.

**Talyn: It’s too early to see a distinct pattern. So far they're just going after treasures and rich people’s penny bags. It would be difficult to tell where they’re gonna be next.**

The elevator door opened and he stepped out, bouncing off to his own personal office, greeting Diana as he walked past her desk. Placing his croissant on his desk, Roman sat himself down in his chair behind his desk, grabbing and looking through the papers Diana had already set for him. 

**You: How long will it take for you to see the pattern?**

Roman had nothing else but pure intuition to go off of in this case that he wasn’t even allowed to work. The fact that this thief  _ had  _ to be the same kid who broke into City Hall was as clear to him as ground under his feet; he just needed to catch him in action. Somehow. 

Due to his earlier research Roman has already decided that the kid’s most likely a stack rat, but that doesn’t help him. About three-hundred thousand people lived in the stacks, and while probably most all of them are murderers and thieves, looking for just one criminal among them would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Although Roman wouldn’t particularly mind having a chance to arrest all those filthy rats, their prisons wouldn’t be able to hold them all. Besides, there wasn’t any protocol for him to act on and charge in and arrest this kid, he’d have to be discovered outside of the Stacks borders in order for him to be arrested properly, and Roman can’t just march in. He’d have to set up a trap.

**Talyn: Give me about two weeks.**

Roman could practically hear their pride from the text. Just as Logan had trusted him to do his job, he trusted Talyn to do theirs. After all, there has never been a better investigator in the history of Flor. Well, perhaps besides him.

This wasn’t an abuse of power; this wasn’t for personal benefit, that’s what Roman kept telling himself. Logan had told him to make sure the province doesn’t catch on fire, and right now this tricky kid was playing with a lit match dangerously close to paper houses, he was simply following orders to take him out.

 

...

 

They sat in an eerie silence directly across from each other, despite all the other seats available, as the plane was loaded with their belongings. Their pilot, her name unknown to them, brought the plane to a straight angle down the runway. Once going at a sluggish rate, the vessel picked up great speed and charged down the clear pathway. The force of acceleration as the road propelled the wheels forward pushed Logan against the back of his seat, and Joan to the edge of theirs.

The plane took off into the air, gaining more and more height with each passing second. Eventually they settled at a high altitude and went into cruse after nearly forty minutes of flight. The two had still yet to speak.

With an exhale of air, Logan decided to crack the ice, no longer willing to wait on an answer.

“Joan.” He spoke up abruptly, “The game… what does it mean?”

Joan, who had been listlessly gazing out the window at the scenery, looked back to him, wincing at his serious gaze and turning back to the window with a desolate stare.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure… but from what you told me it sounded like the Purple Revolt that took place forty years ago.”

“The purple… I’ve never heard of this. What was it?”

“It was said to have been erased from historical records, I only know of it because… well because my grandfather was an enforcer.” Joan confessed, cupping their hands together in their lap, looking down at the floor.

“What does that mean, to be an enforcer?” Logan pushed, sliding to the edge of his seat and leaning forward on his knees. Joan chuckled darkly and crossed one leg over the other.

“Nothing good.” They sighed. “According to my grandfather, ten years after the Stacks Initiative began here on the East Coast; the stackers across multiple provinces had become upset with the camps and demanded better care. When the government refused to provide aid they marched into the nearby districts and burned down several government buildings among others. My grandpa had been a foot soldier, but he watched as the stackers were gassed and hosed back into the Stacks and held there. A barricade of soldiers held out for two hundred days before the stackers gave in and stopped the revolt. My grandpa said that was the reason why the current laws are so strict against the stackers to keep them in line.”

Logan was stricken with disbelief and confusion at this newfound revelation. How could he, the Senator of Flor, not know about such an important event in their history that took place less than half a century ago? Why was this not in the records or taught in the schools, why were the demands of the stackers not met and instead met with violence and cruelty? Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult for the acting government back then to have provided them with more food and shelter; this was pre-depression era after all.

This didn’t add up at all, but another major concern swept him away in his sea of thoughts, that being where the boys had learned this story in the first place. Patton had said that they and lived across from a veteran, did that mean that the neighbor had been an enforcer just as Joan’s grandfather?

Logan was certain of one thing though, and that was that he was going to do everything within his range of power to learn more about what had happened back then, and investigate more into Patton’s background, because this couldn’t be a simple coincidence.

 

…

 

Angry yells and the occasional frightened screams reached his ears and Virgil walked tiredly back to his place, exhausted from an afternoon spent in Damien’s lair with the man himself. The gangster had always been an eccentric gambler and partier and would commonly drag others into his mess for entertainment, which happened to unfortunately him most of the time. Virgil felt a buzz in his head from the alcohol in his system, making it just a little harder for him to walk and see. A good nap would clear up his mind though.

Arriving at the base of his stack he saw a small group of older women, all incredibly thin, getting by on the clothes they made. Virgil had known them for quite awhile ever since he had decided to move out of Patton’s bus and fight to claim the top crate of the stack. His scar he had received from the knife fight still aches whenever he thought about it.

“Good even’ ladies,” Virgil greeted them with a wave as he walked up, “Y’all wouldn’t happen to have a bit of water, would you?”

“That depends. You got something worthy of trade?” The woman in the center asked, her long grey and black hair pulled into one thick braid that wrapped around her neck like a scarf, sitting mighty proudly in her old wheelchair.

“Sure, Dolores, how’s ten bronze sound?” He asked as if it were nothing, as at the moment it almost was for him with how much he was making under Damien.

“Lord Almighty! Where you gettin’ dis much cash?” The one to the left, Agatha, asked, her bald head covered by a straw, sun hat. The dress she wore reaching much too far beyond her small legs.

“Some rich folk just have too much, so I decided to ease their burden a bit.”

“Yeah, right. Watch this one girls, he’ll steal the ring right from your finger when you’re not lookin’.” The last one to the right scoffed with a laugh, hunching over her sore feet, giving them each a rub. Her shoulder length white hair was tucked neatly behind her ears with headband taking care of the rest. Virgil feigned offence.

“Do you think so little of me, Mary?”

“Yes sir, I do. My mama always told me never to trust no thief.”

“Yeah, sure,” He chuckled, handing the bronze bills over to Dolores and taking a long swig from their water container. “This thief will just have to search for others to feed then.”

“Now, now, you know how backwards this old coot can be. We all appreciate your help, Virgil.” Dolores told him, taking the water container back once he had his fill. “She just worries you’ll be in trouble with the law one day.”

“Well there needn’t be no worry ‘bout that.” Virgil told them, before walking over to the rope ladder, “See you later, ladies.” He waved them goodbye, climbing up the side of the stack to his home. The women all cheered out their farewells and watched him go, remembering the days when they used to pickpocket and scale these stack like it was nothing.

Once he made it to the top crate of the stack, Virgil unbolted the door and clambered his way inside. He collapsed down on his mattress and covered his eyes with his arm, letting out a heavy yawn. Virgil passed out swiftly, sleeping off his drunken state until he was sober. By the time he woke up his body was all stiff and his muscles had gone sore. Virgil stood and stretched his limbs out, bringing his arms behind his back and bending over until his nose touched his knees. As soon as he heard the sweet orchestra of popping and cracks, he came back up and left his crate, climbing to the roof to peer at the stars above.

The evening star was had set upon the Stacks, bringing about a great darkness to everything around them, the moon abandoning them and leaving only the billions of fairy lights above their heads to shine on them. It was always at night could the thousands that lived there look upon the distant city that stood proudly miles away. The pure radiance of the skyscrapers that Virgil knew stood hundreds of feet high looked barely more than specks from where he sat on top of his own stack, gazing at the world around him.

Several obstacles stood between these two worlds, two being quite literal--a river and a bridge. Both could be cleared with minimal effort, but beyond that was a mountain tall amount of threats, the number one sitting at the peak atop of its throne. The government. The people who lived here, the stackers,  _ his _ people; they were nothing but fish in a barrel to them. It was a daily fear to all inhabitants that one day the government may march in as they had once done according to all the elders. Virgil thought it was a ridiculous fear and nearly unfounded, yet he still felt uneasy at times. No one really ever knew what the government was going to do to them next.

Virgil looked away from the bright lights of the well-offs and down to the starving. Everything was pretty much pitch black, electricity was nonexistent here, much too expensive and impossible. Oil lamps were only for the wealthy, so reserved for Damien and his confidants; and as much as Virgil loathed the fact, that included him as well. Virgil hated all the pampering and gifts that he was given, such was his fate as the favorite, but he often chose to give the gifts away to his neighbors or others on the streets. The brass oil lamp Damien had gifted him last week was now in the hands of the mother of six who lived ten crates below him. Of course Damien had found out the day he had given it away, and dished out a small punishment, but he mostly let Virgil give them away as he please as a means to show his generosity to the people and gain favor, taking credit for these acts of kindness, and to have the sick pleasure of watching his “pathetic and weak” empathy. Virgil didn’t care about the mockery and ridicule, having long lost any shred of dignity and pride, and went on giving these expensive items away, or selling them to Remy and sharing the profit.

Even still, nothing he could ever do would be enough to help everyone. The Mortality Rate in the Stacks was still in the high teens, reaching sixteen percent, and the infant rate being much worse, much higher. The small dozens that Virgil could provide aid to wasn’t even a dent. Very little work was available to the stackers, as working in the districts was punishable to the extreme by death, an easy sentence being ten years in prison. Therefore much of the work conducted was illegitimate and crime ridden. If a city dweller needed a mercenary, who better to turn to than a Stacker who wasn’t listed by the government and had nothing to lose. Need someone to sell and deliver drugs? A stacker. Need a scapegoat to do your dirty work and possibly take the fall? A stacker. Need someone to break into others homes and steal millions worth of items? ...A stacker would do it with no questions asked. Here they were living on the brink of death, forced to play the role the government dogs had already predetermined for them. 

The economic depression had been birthed here, continued to grow, and then spread its wings into the surrounding districts. Those in the center of the cities saw little change besides a small tax increase, the middle districts saw higher prices and stagnant wages, those on the edge saw foreclosures, dirty streets, and empty bellies. Yet all the while, all of them turned and pointed a finger to the stackers, accusing them of staying within their own boundaries and ignoring their problems and hurting them out of spite. Virgil loathed every single one of them who stuck up their noses, complained about having to pay a silver more, and cursed the rats for their toxin. He desired for the depression to become stronger and wider to the point where stacks were being built up in the downtown areas. He wanted the enforcers to choke on the fat dishes they stuffed themselves with and be eaten alive by the rats they keep imprisoned in their pushed aside filth.

Hatred boiled in his veins, making him bristle in anger from just the sight of their lights. Virgil had always detested his circumstances and his life, loathed that he was forced to be a criminal just to bring in bread and keep death at bay. He had, for the longest time, solely focused that rage at Damien, and while he still held disgust for the despicable man, he was not the cause and merely a pawn in a much larger game. It was the fucking government who had forced their own people to live like this. Stealing the ten percent away from their homes and dumping them here, all in the name of letting the majority live more comfortably.

Virgil wanted so badly for a change, for justice for his people, but no one would ever listen to the voice of a stack rat, he may very well be put behind bars for opening his mouth. That left only one thing left in his arsenal of what actions to take. Raise hell in the city by stealing more than he ever had all those years ago. There were two clear benefits to this. One: Selling stolen items and using the money to aid those around him. Two: Scaring the shit out of the city dwellers.

With a newfound purpose and justification for his crimes, Virgil sat up and went into his crate, dressing himself in his work clothes and grabbing his equipment. Climbing out of his crate and scaling down the stack, Virgil landed on his feet on the dusty earth below right before the three old ladies from before.

“Oh my, going to work so soon sweetie?” Dolores asked from her wheelchair, stationed close to the little fireplace in the ground.

“Yep,” Virgil nodded in confirmation, clipping his belt on around his waist, “I plan to get quite the patient today, tell the others that breakfast is on me, will ya?”

“Bless your soul, Virgil.” Agatha sang, holding her hands over her heart.

“You be safe now, ya hear?” Mary told him sternly with a smirk, “Can’t have our only provider being out of sorts.”

Virgil smiled along with her as the other woman cackled warm-heartedly. He knew she was just teasing him.

“Of course, never been caught and I don’t plan to.”

With that being said, Virgil went on his way out and headed for the desolate bridge that connected the two worlds. The cops would most likely be scanning out the second district due to his little adventure there last night, so perhaps it would be best to go for the third district? There was a rich, retired foundation owner there, that’d be a good place to aim to make a good buck. The last train into the city was at ten, however, so he better get a move on if he didn’t want to walk the whole way there and waste his stamina. 

_ Time to go fuck shit up _ , Virgil grinned to himself.

 

…

 

Patton sat upright against the headboard of his enormous bed, a pillow tucked behind his back for comfort, and a book in his lap. Thomas and Emile were asleep on either side of him, having passed out midway through the story. The two had experienced a rather unpleasant day at school today according to what he was told. Emile had been picked on and they both had been excluded by all the other kids at recess. Patton didn’t know how to comfort them properly since he had never went to school before or been in that situation, so he told them to not mind the bullies and that not everyone is a compatible person to be friends with, and instead to look for others who were similar to them. They appeared to feel a little better after that, but Thomas still had tears in his eyes, so he offered to read to them before bed to cheer them up.

Patton had continued to read it after they fell asleep, though, despite it being a children’s novel mostly taken up by illustrations. The story they had decided on was about a young cat that left his family to seek fame and fortune, but then meets a cold world and loses everything, only to return to his family and find happiness with them in the end. It was silly, he knew that, but Patton couldn’t help but think of Virgil when he read about the cat.

He had been watching the news lately and had seen the stories on the recent robbing spree in the upper districts. Patton hoped that it was someone else and feared what his stomach told him. He knew that Virgil was the one behind it all.

The dad prayed desperately that his oldest son would stop whatever he was doing or planning, and simply come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virgil snapped and now he's pissed; Roman's full of self-righteousness; Patton's concerned for his sons; and Logan is concerned about the past and who he's hired. The plot is only just now starting to thicken muahaha >:3  
> Okay two questions that I have constantly on this story is: Is it original? And am I rushing the character development? Please answer in the comments I'm desperate.  
> Thank y'all for taking time to read this, I really appreciate it. :3


	10. Chapter 10

The Senate Hall, the building where the summits were held and national records, information, and law was kept, was a circular-shaped grand architectural creation meant to hold the most powerful people in the nation. In the center of it all was the Discussion Hall, the room where legislature was made, executive orders were carried out, and judicial decisions were cast; numerous other meeting rooms were scattered around the building for private meetings between committees. There were fifty members in total, a Senator and Deputy Senator from each of the twenty-five provinces. Sessions were held for ten hour hearings, with breaks for meals in between. The worst part of it was the body’s poor scheduling, as many Senators or Deputies were scheduled to be more than one place at once. After the ten hours on seminars was completed, each of them went on their way to go over their takeaway work and proposals for the next day.

Logan sat in the upper front part of the round stands, the order set up in order of when each province was established, his being one of the last at twenty second, with Joan at his side. The Chancellor sat in the center booth, currently regarding the room on issues of foreign trade with their largest supplier and neighboring country. A good number of the senators felt they were paying too much for goods and wanted to raise the import tax, while others feared straining the ties with their closest ally. Logan was against raising the tax.

“Recent statistics have proven that we have been paying two percent more in international tax than Gemma. We need to show them that we will not put up with this by raising theirs four times as more.” Senator Dean Wainwright declared, slamming his palm on the table every other word for emphasis. Applause from about half of the room erupted before quickly being shouted over.

“If we raise their tax Gemma might see it as a threat and pull back on trade. It is not a risk we can take with the state of our economy.” Senator Lucy Lee argued, shushing the crowd.

“So you think we should simply continue to pay more to the Gemmians?” Senator Rachel O'Connor challenged.

“No I-” 

Logan was caressing a bleeding headache from the nearly nonstop yelling of stupid politicians who appeared to love listening to their own voice more than actually accomplishing policy. The back and forth went on for a while more, the Chancellor doing nothing to call order as he should be. Eventually, Logan could no longer take it.

“The resolution is clear.” His voice cut in suddenly over the fighting senators, “Send an ambassador to negotiate a set tax that is equivalent to each other’s. That way we can bring their tax down, and raise ours up without the risk of offending our close ally.”

The crowd began murmuring among each other, some seeming to agree, while others bitterly disregarded his option. Not soon after, Wainwright, an old, withered man who was plagued with his own selfish pride stood from his seat abruptly to yell out an accusation; however, Chancellor Jackson stepped in before he could unleash a flood of personal insults. 

“That is enough Senator Wainwright; Senator Winchester does make an excellent point, one that must be thought over properly with calm minds before a final decision is made. This topic will be returned to on a later date. For now, let’s move on to the next item on the docket.”

  
  


At the moment, Logan would love nothing more than to jump out of a window. He wondered why he had chosen to go into politics sometimes when he was only ever surrounded by idiots. The meeting had just adjourned for the day, the multitudinous senators and deputies exited the room and Logan did not spare a second to escape as well.

Joan was currently in a meeting, having left the main congregation about an hour ago with the Natural Resources and Environment Protection Committee they were a part of, and wouldn’t be finished until late in the evening. Now that his time was, somewhat, free, Logan went to go do as he would almost every day since he had arrived, and that was to scavenge through the Senatorial Archives to continue his investigation. Joan had provided him with all the knowledge they possibly could have on the Purple Revolt, but there were still many questions left unanswered. For the past three weeks Logan has been wandering through the massive shelves of the archives, looking for any details he could find on the subject, but oddly and suspiciously, enough nothing turned up. When he had searched for it by name, it was found nonexistent; when he went to the section dedicated to the history of The Stacks, Logan discovered that much of it was missing, their placements labeled, but the files out. He asked the Head Archivist if someone had checked them out, but he was told that they were confidential and no further explanation could be given.

In the company of each passing day that turned into a week of no more than a speck of data unearthed, Logan’s disturbance and inquisitiveness escalated. He dared not to ask anyone else on the subject, nor share his interest with any of his colleagues, not even Joan. Nevertheless, as the weeks went on, Logan began to feel the creeping suspicion of the others around him at his odd obsession with the archives, he had even been asked about it by Martha Quinn, the Senator of Ivy. 

Martha was one of the few Senators who were under forty years old, being the age of thirty, still leaving him as the youngest at twenty-eight. Logan got along well enough with her, agreeing with her views on quite a few policy areas, however she was known to be nosy and quite crafty, any information split to her could immediately be pivoted right back at him with a flick of her wrist. Despite being so young she had many connections within the Senate and outside of it, it was best to avoid her becoming involved in any way at all costs. 

Alas, she was persistent in her prodding and often offered to accompany him to the archives to assist him. Logan tried to gently let her down but she refused to hear what she didn’t want to; a reason why she was such a brash Senator. Just as he had feared, her self-inclusion into his investigation only set him back further as he tried to derail her suspicion towards him. At this point he only had three more weeks left with the opportunity to be in the nation’s largest data bank and possibly find what he was looking for, he surely wouldn’t be able to do that with Miss Quinn breathing down his neck every second of the day.

“Actually, on second hand I think I’ll go and rest in my hotel quarters, I have obtained a rather painful headache from today’s chaos. It was a pleasure chatting with you Senator Quinn.” Logan excused himself, politely giving her a small bow before. Martha said nothing in response, staring him down with her calm, calculating as she watched the way every muscle on his body moved, reading him like a book. She offered him a smile.  

“You know Logan,” She purred, stalking her way around him as if he were her prey, “there are a lot of rumors floating around you, you best be careful not to draw any more attention to yourself, lest the investigator becomes the investigat-ee.” 

Martha bounded off down the hall he had planned to take to avoid her, effectively cutting through his previous bluff to go back to his hotel and revealing his true intentions to stay, or else he would have accompanied her out. Her luscious black curls fell down and bounced off her waist in an eloquent ballet. She had let him go today, but Logan knew she’d be back to try and snuff out the truth from him. Try as she might, there was no way she could hope to get a single meaningful word out of him without it coming with his full intention.

_ It truly was a pleasure, Miss Quinn. _

Logan glanced back to the doors of the archives, contemplating the contents that lay behind them, and then walked away, following in her footsteps. Whatever it was he was searching for, it didn’t exist here, and he could trust no one within these walls to provide the answers he so craved. Yet, there was one who very likely could assist him. The man who had started him on this scavenger hunt of his, his chef.

 

...

 

The serene calm of the apartment home, quiet and still from being unbothered and vacant, grey with the light of the sun through the clouds being the only provider in the dim setting sat in a perpetual loop was erratically shattered when the front door was brutishly kicked inwards from the outside hall. A caramel brown briefcase was chucked into the open living area, hitting the edge of the lush red sofa, flinging open with a cascade of papers soaring into the air and across the rich mahogany flooring. The action thusly destroying the prior peace and replacing it with something much more conflicting.

Roman charged into his residence with a heavy huff, slamming the door behind him, and stomped his way to his couch and collapsed into the cushions in a frustrated heap. He paid no mind to the mess he had created beside him, too focused on the vexation that was bubbling erratically inside.

It has been nearly five weeks since the robberies had begun, and not a single fucking trace of evidence had been found. The reporters were describing it as if the treasures had seemingly disappeared by out of thin air. Of course he knew that was a lie and simply the media trying to get views. Talyn themselves was also perplexed about this case, unsure how to pin down the thief when the hits were so sporadic and elusive. This kid was able to rob three homes within a single night, yet go under radar for several days and appear in a completely different part of the city.

Several suspects and captured robbers had been brought in for investigation, but none have been proven guilty for the mass conduct. Talyn had sent him confidential intel on each suspect, but once he saw their faces he knew it wasn’t them. Talyn questioned him on this, becoming suspicious of his behavior.

“How are you so certain that this kid you ran into is the same one whose committing all these acts? It could be the work of several people for all we know.” They told him earlier that same day when they met for coffee during his break.

“It’s him, Talyn, I  _ know _ it is.” Roman said firmly, lifting his heavy head from its previous position in his hands on the tabletop. 

“No, you  _ think _ it is.” They denied pointedly, setting their mug to the side with vigor, their voice strong and commanding, but also caring and parental. “Ro, you have to let this go. It isn’t your job anymore and you’re becoming obsessed with this in a way that’s not good for you. As the new head of security, you have other matters to focus on other than a single thief.”

“A thief has single-handedly taken millions worth of possessions from innocent and good people to do lord knows what, striking fear into the minds of the masses, and creating civil unrest. And I’m supposed to just  _ let it go _ ?” Roman hissed bitterly, clenching his fist tightly in his lap and digging his heel into the floor under the table. Talyn sighed resignation and backed away from the whole debacle, knowing that he could not be reasoned with as he was. They stood and slid their jacket on over their shoulders, placing cash on the table to cover their end of the bill.

“This case isn’t going anywhere anytime soon with what’s been showing up. I know you don’t like to throw in the hat, but maybe you should consider it this time and focus on helping the province.”

After they left he didn’t even bother going back to work and instead went home, which led him up to where he was now, lying on the couch in a very bad mood. He was still technically on his break, although it would soon end in less than ten minutes. Roman will most likely be late getting back to work, but he didn’t care about all that at the moment.

_ I am helping the province _ . He thought begrudgingly.  _ I’m trying to protect it from this scumbag. I’m not obsessed. Why would I be? _

Roman sat up with an exhale of hot air, letting his back sink into the fluff of his cushion pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was true that this was no longer his duty, and he know had something more to look after, but the endless paperwork was never for him, and it wasn’t what he had expected or desired. Roman was best in his element at the front line, facing the criminals head on and taking them down with his bare hands and hand pistol. He couldn’t just suddenly leave that part of him behind, it was what made him who he was. It defined him. When Roman was young he looked up to the police and wanted to be one of them. He entered college and studied then studied in an academy, spending years of his life on this path. Now his life has suddenly changed, but he wasn’t sure if it’s for the better.

That’s not to say he doesn’t see his role as being unimportant, but the mindless hours of dulling meetings and discussions over policy and action, only to come up with nothing in the end didn’t hold a candle to what he once did. He was helping people, sure, but not at the rate he wanted. When he was a cop he always had his radio on, even when he was off-duty, so that he could rush in if danger appeared. From anything to assault, armed robberies, car crashes, or just a noisy neighbor, Roman wanted to help the people no matter what, no matter how small. As a politician he was just arguing over how something should be carried out when it was clearly obvious. 

Throwing his head to the side, Roman looked over at his digital wall clock to check the time. He was ten minutes late already. Diana was surely going to give him a firm talking to once he came back.

_ Logan trusted you for a reason. It may not be what you wanted, but you can do some good. _

Moaning out loud, Roman threw himself of the couch and dramatically crawled on his knees to his scattered papers and haphazardly jammed them into his case. He may be blunt and reckless by nature, that was one reason he was such a great cop, but he still stood by the honor of his badge; and for now, that badge called him to be something else.

 

…

 

With his glasses in a pot of soup and running off of five hours of sleep, Patton’s day was not going as he exactly wanted or expected it to.

The morning came much too early for him, at three A.M. He woke in a panic, sweaty scare, his hands held in front of him acting as a shield. He looked around frantically, searching for a threat, making sure that his sons were still at his side. Thomas was still knocked out, his arms and legs spread out widely like the little star he was. Emile was in a ball, seeming a bit disturbed by the sudden movement, but was otherwise fine. Patton let out a relieved sigh, although he wasn’t sure why, because, not matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had dreamt of to make him that way.

He tried to lie back down, close his eyes, and go back to sleep, but the lingering feeling of unease kept him up. After about half an hour of pointless attempts, Patton got up from bed, careful to not disturb the boys, slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat. He made his way out into the backyard garden. The first time he had found this place he had instantly become enchanted with it. Something like this never existed in the Stacks, in fact there was barely any natural vegetation there, even the riverbank held little plant life. That’s why when Patton saw this place, full of beautiful flowers and amazing varieties of bushes and buds, he had fell in love with the garden.

Patton would occasionally come out here during his breaks and simply gaze at the plants, finding it therapeutic, but he had never come here during nighttime. Yet he found the result all the same. The moonlit roses and carnations, names he had learned from a plant guide he had found in Logan’s downstairs library, the one he had open to the staff and visitors. The red of the flowers, which were fiery and vibrant in the sun, were now purplish silver. He had been enjoying his time out there; that is until he was suddenly shouted at and tackled to the ground.

Ahmed later explained that he only saw his figure and not any characteristics, causing him to believe that Patton was an intruder. He apologized for doing so, but made him promise that he’d tell him ahead of time if he planned to be in the gardens.

The rest of his morning wasn’t as dramatic, but not any easier either. Due to his lack of sleep, Patton was more sluggish when preparing breakfast for everyone, giving cause for Elise to ridicule and lecture him, even though she already refused to ever eat his cooking. Because of this he ended up being late taking the boys to school and had to sprint there on foot while carrying both of them, Thomas on his back and Emile in his arms. He had managed to get them to class on time, but their teacher had given him an incredulous look, peering down at his food covered apron and messy hair. Patton acted as if he didn’t notice and tried to not let her scorn bother him.

During the return to the manor the grey clouds that had been plaguing the skies since yesterday began to pour down rain on his umbrella-less self, drenching him by the time he made it back. Elise scrunched her nose at him as he dripped water across the floor. Patton apologized to Jamie for the mess but he didn’t mind and was much more worried about him, offering to run him a bath while he changed from his wet clothes. I took a few moments for Patton to oblige, not wanting to be a burden, but he eventually conceded to his wishes.

The bath had been warm and relaxing, so much in fact that he almost fell asleep in it, but by the time he was done it was around the time he cook lunch.

Which had then led him to his present situation.

Patton had decided to make chicken soup with rice, as it seemed appropriate for the stormy weather, but while he was doing so the steam from the pot boiling fogged up his glasses. He wiped at them to clear away the fog, but he accidentally knocked them off and they fell into the pot. Patton frowned a little, bit simply picked up a pair of tongs to pull them out of the boiling broth. It took him several dozen times to pick up his thin, frail glasses, but once he had them snared he pulled them out and placed them in the sink. He cleaned them off under the faucet the best he could and placed them back on his face, but the water droplets blocked his vision. He tried to wipe it off on his shirt, but the smudges made everything blurry.

Patton closed his eyes and swallowed his breath, took a deep breath, then continued with what he was doing, making do with what he could see.

“Hey Pat Pat!” Jamie greeted walking into the kitchen; he was wearing an apron around his waist and had his cleaning gloves still on his hands, meaning he had just started his break. 

“Hi Jay Jay.” Patton said as enthusiastically as he could, but ended up sounding tired.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jamie asked in concern, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Yeah, just had a bit of a rough day.” He smiled, “I’ll be just fine. I’m sorry that I made you clean up the water I dripped on the floor then had you run a bath.”

“No, no it’s fine! What kind of person wouldn’t do that? Well, besides Elise.” He joked, well versed in how stingy their butler can be.

_ More people than you’d expect _ . Patton thought bitterly before catching himself. He shouldn’t be thinking in that manner, it wasn’t healthy or good.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio? I like to listen to music while I eat.” 

“Of course.” Patton confirmed, pouring soup into a porcelain bowl and placing it at the table for Jamie. The youthful looking man, it was still a shock that he was thirty-four, went over to the little radio on the counter and switched it on. The music playing was some sort of instrumental piano, but Jamie quickly changed the channel to something the sounded very angry and aggressive. The main singer was also for some reason screaming a lot. Yet Jamie nodded his small head joyfully as if it was the sweetest the tune in existence. Patton tried to listen along peacefully, but he wasn’t able to get comfortable in the sound.

“I actually feel like eating in the sitting room today.” He announced filling a bowl for himself, turning off the stove and covering the pot with the lid to keep it warm.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later then.” He waved, although a bit awkwardly. Patton felt a twinge of guilt and almost decided to stay, but the screaming singer got angrier. 

Patton waved goodbye to him as well and walked towards the door, passing Ahmed as he did and pointing out his meal that was waiting for him at the table. 

The sitting room was dark and empty, cut off from the outside light by heavy curtains that were practically nailed to the walls, much like the rest of the house. The room was small compared to all the others, only slightly larger than his. The hardwood floors were covered in an old Victorian style carpet in the center of the room, while the rest surrounding it was left bare. The furniture consisted of a love-seat sofa, arm chair, and a chaise longue all circulating around a long coffee table. Across the two, right walls were lines of bookshelves, from where he got his encyclopedia of flowers all jam packed with various forms of literature covering the dark blue wallpaper behind them. In the left corner was a smaller bar table accompanied by two stools and a wine cabinet behind it, not necessary filled with just wine.

While the room in itself was indeed beautiful, it lacked any color or life. Whenever he was home, Logan often spent his time here in the dark reading by the lamplight. From what Patton has gathered from his time at the manor, Logan was a very busy and reclusive man who barely had any time to himself, and if he did he would spend it in the solitude of his study or this room. Much of the mansion was left in the dark due to the order he had apparently given out three years ago according to what Jamie had told him when he asked about the curtains. 

Placing his bowl on the coffee table, Patton walked over to the windows and drew them open as wide as he could, letting the light spill in. Even with the sky being riddled with rain, a new spirit was allowed into the sitting room. He walked over to the bookshelves and peered over the titles of mostly non-fiction and educational stories, looking for something to spend his afternoon with. Finally he found a story about ancient heroes and decided to settle with that, always enjoying a good tale of heroic deeds.

Patton took a pillow from the couch and placed it in the ground before the coffee table, taking a seat there instead of on one of on the sofa or chair. Opening the book on the table, he sipped on his soup as he read to himself. The book switched from story to story each chapter, but he found himself really enjoying a story about a woman named Mulan. He was astounded how many of the stories turned out to be sad in the end, such as for Jeanne D’Arc, but their lives were so honored. 

All of these heroes had lived hundreds, or thousands, of years ago, their accomplishments being passed down into legend. Patton never knew people like this ever existed. Brave men and women who fought for their people and country; it sounded unbelievable and unrealistic. Why would someone care for their country so much to risk it all? It sounded almost mystical.

After an hour of peacefully reading, and occasionally difficulties with words he couldn’t read or understand, his soup long finished and forgotten, Elise crept in.

“Mr. Sanders, a letter has been sent to you by the young master.” She said briskly, shoving a letter down on the table in front of him.

“Oh, what is it about?” Patton inquired and turned towards her, closing his book.

“It hasn’t been open yet so I do not know, obviously.”

He shrunk back at her words, but nodded at her in apology, taking the letter into his hands. “Perhaps you should sit on the sofa.” Elise said backhandedly as she stepped out.

Patton fidgeted in slight humiliation and sat up of the couch, putting the pillow back into the placement he took it from. He looked down at the letter in his hand, addressed specifically to him, sent from his superior. Ripping the corner, Patton ungracefully tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of parchment from the inside.

 

_ Salutations, Mr. Patton Sanders, _

 

_ I am writing you in regards of an important and classified issue that is held with the utmost regard. What I am about to ask you I ask in trust that you will keep classified between only our two entities. Over the past weeks that I have been in our nation’s capital I have gone under intense research into the origin and history of The Stacks Experiment Initiative, or TSEI as it is called here. However I have hit a roadblock as I have discovered that most all of the records on the TSEI are missing from the Senatorial Archives. I am due back in a month, but I fear that it will not be enough time for me to finish my research. That is why I am requesting that you reconnect with you old neighbor who served in the military, I believe that she will have some of the answers I need. If for whatever reason you are not able to do so, I expect you to be the one to provide me with any information I may request. I do not have more than an educated hunch that the TSEI somehow ties into the nation’s economic depression, and that solving the issue of The Stacks will only benefit the entirety of the public. I am relying on solely you to help me fix this, as I have no other routes of which to turn to. _

 

_ Cordially, Logan Winchester _

 

The chef held his breath the entire way through without realizing it, and then let out an enormous exhale of air as he read the last line. He didn’t understand what it all meant or what was being asked of him. Why would Logan be researching the Stacks, what did he mean by the records being missing and why would Patton being his last option to turn to? He trembled lightly in a perplexed awe, a mix of excitement and terror, his mind hurtling in direction it had never been to. Whatever it meant, whatever Logan was attempting, whatever his purpose, he saw opportunity in this letter. The senator was asking for help to understand the Stacks so he could fix society, maybe if Patton was able to mold his focus further onto the state of the Stacks in its own right he could persuade him to adjust the law surrounding them.

_ But wouldn’t that be deceiving Logan and using him? He’s putting his trust in me after all.  _

He faltered a bit at that thought, not at all enjoying the prospect of taking advantage of his trust or lying to him. However, what Logan desired was for Patton to help him fix the state of society, and Patton wants the Stacks to be part of that society. If he could merely show him the mistreatment in the Stacks then it may be enough to persuade him by itself. The people born there were just as much of a citizen as any other born in a proper district, this could be the way they finally receive their rights.

_ If I agree to this, I risk the chance of being caught and being sent back, or worse, being executed. _

Patton pondered heavily on this for a while, trying to see the correct path he should take. He could be safe, say no to Logan, and keep his job and family safe, while nothing in the Stacks changes. Or, he could agree and guide Logan through his journey, steering him in the path he desires and possibly aim for a betterment of all Stackers, including his son, Virgil, who was still trapped there. Patton thought back on all of the news updates, the rocketing crimes, the sworn promises of the law enforcement to bring him to justice. Virgil would always be at risk so long as he committed theft, and he’d never stop stealing until he was free of Damien’s control; but with the amount of debt he owed, it would take him more than a lifetime to pay it all back. Because Virgil never borrowed a specific amount of money from the crook, no, it was something more precious than that.

His eyes caught the title of the book on the table, reminding him of the countless amounts of people who put everything on the line for what they believed in. He had his answer.

Virgil had traded his life for Patton’s own, metaphorically and literally. It was time that Patton did the same.

 

…

 

The knock came tentatively at his front door, cautious and careful to maintain the secrecy in which they were called in. Roman, still suited up from his long day of work, peered through the peaky hole prior to opening the door, allowing Talyn access into his home. He had called them in on his way back from the office, eager to start planning the layout of his scheme. Roman could tell they were still concerned from their previous conversation yesterday, but had still agreed to come nonetheless.

Roman beckoned them in, guiding them to dining table in the foyer where he had all of his papers, intel, and newspaper clippings laid out as leads for the case. Talyn sighed sarcastically when they say it all, setting their bag on top of the table and papers. Roman whined as they did this, complaining that they had messed with his algorithm. 

“Oh yes, I can see you’re definitely not obsessed.” Talyn mocked affectionately, plucking up a newspaper article on an alleged sighting of the man in question, the most recent of them all.

“It’s called being determined,” Roman sang, taking a sip from his coffee mug, handing one over to Talyn as well. They took the cup gratefully, swirling the liquid around as they regarded the work before them. He waited by their side as they gazed on with silent computation, committing everything they saw to memory and locating a route within a few minutes. “Do you have a plan?” He asked once she snapped her head back up, signaling that she had finished her assessment.

“From my analysis as the chief investigator of this case over the past two months, I’ve found that our guy doesn’t strike random houses, everything has a rhyme and a rhythm. The data here didn’t offer any more than what I already know-”

“Geez thanks.”

“-but it appears that all the targets are of well known holders of fortune. No small-time businesses that we know of have been hit up by this guy, nor have there been any jobs on uncharted shareholders. Still, there appears to be no other correlation between his victims other than them being rich and openly so. He also tends to favor working at night, meaning he most likely knows how to manipulate the darkness and stealth to his advantage. It would be useless to act in daylight hours.”

“So, are you saying we have a plan?”

“I’m saying  _ I  _ have a plan, but yes.” Talyn reached into their bag and pulled out a notepad and pen and began sketching out a formulated plot. “It’ll either take a while or work very quickly, there’s no clear way of predicting; but if I’m right, which I always am, this should get him in five days or less.”

Roman looked over their shoulder at the sketch work of childish looking doodles that were meant to be a serious scheme. He chuckled inwards at the cartoony look, finding the art style to be adorable.

“What do I have to do?” Roman questioned, abandoning his previous train of thought to focus on the bigger picture at hand. He felt a tingle underneath his skin at the prospect of finally being able to corner this tricky kid. Oh how close he had at last come.

Talyn smirked, their eyes filling with the shine that could only ever be brought through their love for complicated and dastardly strategy and the thrill of a chase. They were much like him in that regard. Nothing was more satisfying that bringing a villain to justice.

“What you I need to do is-”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is kinda lame but oh well, this served more as an intermission than anything else. -_-


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Skip from "Pain. That's all he felt." to "Mold tasted absolutely disgusting,"

Over a week had passed since they began and the plan has yet to work. Talyn suspected as much and knew that this would most likely be the case, but Roman still complained on the daily. They had told him five days or less to ease his nerves, but it had only made him more anxious in the end with each day that had passed beyond the promised mark. 

The trap had been set in three separate homes of several well renowned entrepreneurs famous for both their riches and being either old or slow. It didn’t take long for Talyn to string together connections between all of the victims. A common occurrence of each crime was that they were all well-known, wealthy, or alone. Each an easy target who promised a large pay day. This is why Talyn had decided the bait they did. One would not tempt a wolf with stringy scraps; the whole steak must be used to ensnare it. Each night they waited in the determined locations, Roman in one, Talyn in another, and their assigned partner in the last. Talyn didn’t tell them that the current Head of Security was working on the case, simply that they had found extra hands to help from an old friend.

Each night they sat in waiting, each homeowner being nice enough to welcome them as guests, all eager to catch this criminal and protect their welfare. Talyn stayed with the Morales family, hunkered down in their security room monitoring the premises whenever they weren’t patrolling the floors.

The mistress of the household, Valentina, would often join Talyn on their patrols, moving quietly and stealthy despite her old age. She was a spitfire of a woman who would always connect every topic of conversation to her life as a young, successful businesswoman who single-handedly built her own entertainment empire; starting as a coffee house comedian before getting her own show until she eventually earned enough to start her own company. Talyn would listen to these stories passively as they worked, enjoying the tales but never losing sight of the mission. Valentina was a smart one who could tell the difference between times for silence and for communion, and then twist those times to her advantage to take control of the situation. Talyn saw a lot of them-self in her, like two bricks carved from the same stone.

Valentina had turned in early for the night this time due to a meeting she had scheduled early the next morning, which left Talyn to work alone. They didn’t mind, they were used to it. Until Roman that was.

Talyn smiled at the memory of when they were first assigned to work with Roman on a serial case. Neither of them were pleased with the news, both being lone wolves in the work field. Roman was well known for his detective work in the homicide division, while Talyn was famous for working all over the board. Many thought them to be the best the department had. So when they learned of their assignment he tried to be civilized with them, even though he did a poor job at hiding his dismay. Talyn, on the other hand, was cold and unresponsive, refusing to act as partners and more as a dictator. Roman had become furious and demanded that the chief find him a new partner or allow him to work alone. The chief refused to comply and basically smashed their heads together and told them to get along. 

“Fine, I’ll put up with this bullshit when Talyn cuts back on theirs.” 

“Not gonna happen, you’re majesty, bullshit is my first language.”

That made him laugh despite trying to remain upset. It was a little funny that their friendship came from a silly  workplace rivalry.

Looking over the security footage of the neighborhood for potential threats through the cameras that sat on the Morales’ front fence, Talyn noticed a small movement in the corner of the screen outside the neighbor’s house. Zooming in by two hundred percent, they realized it was just a cat, a pet or a stray. Talyn sat back in slight disappointment. 

Five days had been a hopeful stretch. Talyn was more of a patient nature then Roman and could handle the quiet nights with more responsibility and maturity; but even they had to admit that this was becoming strenuous. Out of the literal millions that lived in the city, including the stackers, since Roman was convinced that that is where the crook is from. Searching for one man was like looking for a single stone of gravel in the expansive mass of the open sea. Talyn hated the dull preparation period at the starting line and preferred to enjoy the thrill of the chase.

A huff of breath escaped passed their gated lips as they turned away from the screen to stare into the dark depths of the room. The crackle of the monitor’s static filled the air with a redundant note. The sound drowned in their ears as they stared at their silhouette displayed on the far wall, created by the blue light of the monitors. An idea thus dawned of the use of security cameras, a really big idea that was slightly illegal. Or rather very illegal, but that just made it all the more fun.

 

…

 

Pain. That’s all he felt. He laid down on a feather bed, with silk sheets wrapped around his waist, the softest pillow imaginable holding his head. But all he felt was pain.

Damien lay beside him, curling his body against his, his head resting on an arm. In his hand he twirled a gold ring with an ruby stone in between his fingers, admiring the amazing craftsmen work. Virgil had taken that ring not more than a few hours ago. The elderly couple slept heavily, their noisy snoring covering the sound of him creeping into their bedroom. Perhaps it was a wedding ring, an heirloom, or just an accessory; either way he could tell it would bring him a hefty paycheck.   
He was going to bring the ring into Remy’s market and sell it there, splitting the money with Damien as he was charged to, but he was due to check in with Damien first. Little to say that his boss took a fond liking to the stunning ring and decided to “reward” Virgil for the treasure.   
“Mmh,” Damien hummed lowly, pressing his face Virgil’s bare shoulder. He placed light kissed across his skin as he caressed his arm. Virgil suppressed his need to shutter at the touch, not wanting to show any sort of reaction to the man, he knows it would only encourage him further. “It’d be such a waste to simply sell this, wouldn’t you agree?”    
Virgil didn’t respond, knowing that the question was rhetorical and he was just thinking out loud. Just as he suspected, Damien didn’t wait for a response and continued on as if Virgil had in fact said something.   
“I want you to show it off!” He decided in a wolfish tone.   
Cupping the ring in one hand, Damien used the other to forcibly turn Virgil on his side to face him directly. Virgil didn’t fight him for fear of making the man who held his leash upset. Grabbing his wrist, Damien brought his hand up and slipped the ring onto his finger, thankfully not the ring finger.   
“I know you’re usually dim-witted and give away my gifts, but if you dare to take this off...” he leaned in close, speaking next to his ear, “I’ll lock you up in your cage for weeks with little food or water and have my way with you until you pass out from exhaustion.”   
Virgil closed his eyes and refused to look at the animal in front of him, holding still despairingly to not show a hint of his overwhelming fear. Damien didn’t take kindly to that and bit his ear hard, drawing blood. Virgil yelped in pain and instinctively tried to back away but was held down in his spot.   
_ “Am I understood?” _   
“P-perfectly!”   
Damien smiled unkindly at the unsteady shake of his voice. He reached over and pulled Virgil against his chest, making him rest his head under his chin. The gangster breathed out an exhale of hot, sticky air.   
“What would you do without me?”   
_ I’d live. _   
  
  


Mold tasted absolutely disgusting, but there was solemnly any other choice than to take from the bottom of the barrel. A loaf of bread was sold for fifty copper coins here in the Stacks, taken for free from the bakeries that throwing them out. Maybe there would be one stale section of the bread that had not yet gone moldy, but it’d be gone before the hungry families were able to make their way to the market. The fruit was much worse, bruised, mold-ridden, and insect infested; but parents and the like were desperate. The mold was picked off and thrown to the ground, insects too unless one was hungry enough.

Food was also grown here in the Stacks, but the land was dry and rocky, the soil poor and unhealthy. Barely anything grew, especially not in the amount necessary to accommodate each mouth. What did grow was tough, tasteless, and fought over. So food had to be brought in, and all that anyone could afford were the scraps of the well-off. Even so, it was never enough and thin bodies dropped on the near daily.

From all his time spent in the city Virgil has heard all the rumors made by the city dwellers. But despite what all the asshats in nice clothes and warm homes thought, stackers were very neat and clean. The streets were littered with nothing but dirt, possessions of any kind being much too precious to ever let go of. Trash was basically non existent. Anything flammable was used in the fire pits to keep them warm at night. They cleaned their waste and dumped in one area away from their homes, and buried the ashes of their dead in another.

Their society was organized; they took care of each other. It was a system. The strong took care of the weak, and the weak served the strong, such as with Virgil’s role. He was healthier than most with a good paying occupation, so he helped those who could not work or did not make enough. In turn, the ones he helped assisted him with things he couldn’t do. At least that’s how it was when he was younger, but he never liked the trade off. That’s why when he was thirteen he asked Dolores to teach him how to sew, among other things, so he’d no longer have to ask her to do it with her frail hands. Even with him acting as an outlier, the system still persisted and kept them alive. However, the gangsters were a virus to this system, taking without giving and threatening to tip the scale that kept them alive. Virgil tried to give back as much as he could to make up for what was taken, but he never managed to accomplish it.

His righteous servitude didn’t go unnoticed and wasn’t always favored by those around him. Many adored his generosity and praised him for his help, some cursed him for favoring a few over the rest, others saw it as him gloating about his wealth and felt bitter hatred towards him.

At the moment it seemed like it was the latter reaction.

“Get yer ass down from dat stack and I’ll show ya who’s a jobless pissant!” A broad, but deathly thin man covered in crusty hair yelled up at him

First of all, Virgil didn’t even call him a jobless pissant, he had merely suggested he look for work in the fields; secondly, Virgil wasn’t even on a stack anymore. He had already scaled down by the time the words left his mouth. He didn’t react to the man though and headed for the opposite direction once his feet touched the ground.

“Where’d ya think yer goin’?” Virgil still didn’t answer him. The brutish man did not take kindly to being ignored and charged him, but he was swift and stepped out of the brute’s way at the last second and tripped him. The man face planted into the dirt and went into a glorious scorpion pose. Several viewers hollered at the scene, making the man flush from embarrassment. He jumped up with rage in his eyes.

“Please stay down.” Virgil said more in suggestion.

“Why or else y’all call yer pimp to take care of me?” The man laughed, “Yeah, you’se the big man’s bitch ain’t ya? You’se pampered like one. If the hair didn’t give it away then that dere ring sure does. Never dirtied yo own hands a day in yer life but still gets treated better than the rest of us who scavenge for scraps like dogs. Got no talent and got no skill. Ya only have yer body like a common whore.”

Virgil said nothing to back up or shut down the claims, not caring enough to defend his already stained pride. Plenty could tell what happened to him behind closed doors because of the color of his hair. There was no use in denying it.

“Now you wait just a minute right there!” The guttural voice of Dolores cut through the crowd, the elderly woman pushing the rickety wheels of her chair forward. “That boy may not be as clean as snow, but none of us are neither. He be doing the rest of us a service by feeding us what he can and giving way what he wishes. If you don’t want his handouts then don’t complain about not having enough to eat. Lord knows he’s offered a chunk of good bread to about every person who lives in this hell pit.”

Voices of affirmation rose up from the crowd, each person willing to support Virgil against the accusations of the hateful man. Yes, each of them knew about his situation and who was supplying Virgil with the gifts, but they got them nonetheless and didn’t care two shits about what happened behind the curtain if it meant they got a share of his good will. A good Stacker didn’t judge one for occupation, but on character, and this character was against the lot of them. 

The man, noticing that he was outnumbered by the crowd turning against him, tsked and spat on the ground, grudgingly pushing his way out from the crowd.

“Oh, and sir!” Virgil called, finally speaking up. The man turned to him with a killing glare. “You really shouldn’t try to attack a thief.” He smirked, holding up the money sack that had been on the man’s belt.

The man’s jaw dropped, his eyes flinging between Virgil and the bag in disbelief. Virgil chuckled and opened the bag, the man went into an offensive stance, and threw in a few copper pieces before throwing the sack back to its rightful owner.

“Go buy yourself some lunch.”

The man looked at the sack for a moment before raising his gaze, now full of rage. He scoffed and threw down the bag, shoving his way through the crowd and vanishing from sight. Virgil sighed and picked up the bag and went around handing each person that he could in the crowd a coin.

All this over a bit of cheese. 

 

...

 

The streets were bustling with cars as per usual but at a much slower rate, the morning traffic dying down as the time reached ten in the morning. Patton walked on foot across the thin-filled streets at a leisure, but purposeful, pace. The day was brisk; a light layer of frost covered the ground like a sheet. Winter would arrive in a few short weeks, but the first snowfall will most likely come before then. The boys didn’t own proper jackets to keep them warm in the cold. Patton would have to take them shopping later when he picked them up from school.

Swift steps soon brought him before the public library. Patton walked up the tall steps and went in. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside, lit with electric candles, books towered high on shelves all labeled by genre. He wasn’t sure what genre to look under, so he went to the front desk to ask for assistance. He was directed to the Non-Fiction section underneath social sciences. Following the directions, Patton went to where he was meant to go and found the subsections underneath social sciences, the one he was looking for labeled ECONOMICS. There was a short supply of books under that section, but Patton hunkered down and began to look through every one of them. Each book told the same story and ideas with only slight differences, going on about theories, what worked and what didn’t; but none spoke of what he was searching for. In all five of the books in total, not a single one spoke of T.S.E.I, which was what he had hoped to find.

There were a total of three public libraries in the capital city of Faun, and not a single one had any texts on the Stacks or its history. Strange, considering that its existence wasn’t a secret to anyone. There wasn’t a soul alive who hasn’t heard of or seen the sky towering stacks of metal homes that sit far off in the distance from advanced civilization. Yet, no one, not even the stackers who lived there, knew the true origin of their creation.

Patton had never personally been curious himself, but the letter Logan had sent him, and the urgency of his words, made him think. Think about what he and everyone else knew. Every ten years ten percent of the population was sent to live in the Stacks to curve out over population and allow the rest to live better lives. There they were left alone with no aid to die alone. But who choose the ten percent, was it random or purposeful? The stackers blindly pointed a finger at the government as a whole as the one who picked and chose, but if Logan, the head of the province, was unaware of how it happened and the inner workings, then who did? Patton was hoping to answer his questions on how it worked so he could help Logan put a stop to it, but turned up empty-handed. 

The intentions of the Senator were vague at best. “ _ Solving the issue of the stacks”  _ could have a variety of different meanings, good and bad. Patton wasn’t well versed in how economics worked or the science or politics behind it, but he wanted to be. If he could intelligently steer Logan in the right direction, perhaps they could find a better alternative together. That is what Logan had said he wanted to do, to help the economy prosper and cure the depression. Well, Patton wanted the Stacks to prosper as well, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure both of their wishes come true. 

Checking out all five of the economic books, Patton left the library and went on his way to make lunch for the staff. Elise lectured him as soon as he walked in about being on time. He apologized to her quickly and rushed in. Omelettes would have to fit the bill today, quick and easy, at least for him they were, but it took years of practice during the afterhours at the restaurant when he had to stay late to close up. Jamie came in promptly when the clock hit noon, Ahmed lagging by around ten minutes. They ate together in peaceful silence before going their own ways without a word.

 

…

 

Time had been spent and there was now a little less than a week until the summit came to a close and Logan, along with all the other senators, would have to go home. Logan had tried his darndest to find out what he could on the stacks, but came up with nothing. 

He did not want, under any circumstances, to seek out assistance from the staff or the other senators. If word got out that he was seeking out knowledge of the Stacks then he’d surely be tailed by those who had hidden that knowledge from view. But time was running short and he didn’t have long. The last week of the summit meetings were always the most hectic with politicians trying to get as much work done as possible to pass the policy desired by their parties. Logan had barely any time to himself to conduct his personal search.

Logan reached out to Joan since they had previously been a provincial secretary and had access to the Senatorial Archives. They weren’t positive on why all the information on the Stacks was removed, but they did know of another place that may hold it. According to Joan there is a bottom floor under the archives that held all of the confidential documents. If what he was looking for had yet to be destroyed, then it would be stored in the underground archives. The issue with that however was that the undergrounds were protected by a complex code system that changed daily and only a select few senators had clearance to those codes. A bigger issue was that almost all of the senators on that list hated both his guts and his views. There was one though who didn’t hate him, although that came more as an inconvenience  to him than anything else.

Martha Quinn. Logan would rather risk his career by forcibly breaking into the lower level than completely eradicate his image by working with her. Martha was, in the nicest of words, manipulative. She could goad you into a false sense of comfort and snatch whatever she desires twice as fast and leave while exposing you to the political world before you even know you said “yes.” She was ruthless and knew how to utilize both her charm and her intellect to her advantage. Logan held great respect for her, but he trusted her about as far as he could throw her.

Bottom line, Logan did not want to go to her.

He knocked on her office door.

“Who is it?” Her airy voice called through the rosewood door.

“Senator Winchester.” He replied, listening to the light footsteps as they approached. The door opened a few seconds later. Martha stood there in all of her intimidating glory.

“You could have just said your first name, Lo Lo.” She grinned, opening the door with her hip to welcome him in.

“I have asked you before to not call me that, Miss Quinn.”

“So long as you call me by my last name, I reserve the right to call you whatever I want.” She closed the door behind them, offering him tea, to which he politely declined. Perceptive as ever, she got straight to the point.

“I know you Lo Lo, you’re a reclusive man who only comes out to play when there’s a prize at the end of the game,” She circled around him carefully, giving him a once over, and then sat back down in her chair behind her desk. “So tell me, what prize do I hold?”

Logan didn’t answer her. He knew that this was a mistake and that it would be better if he turned around now; but what other path could he take to get the entrance codes he needed.

“I’m looking to get into a certain…place, and you are one of the few who can get me there.”

“I can get into a lot of places hun.” Martha smirked, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Logan grimaced both inwardly and outwardly. Why did it have to come to this?

“The Underground Archives. I need the code to get in.”

“Oh! Well that is a tough one. Letting in someone without clearance could very well lose me my chance at reelection if word got out of the scandal. What on earth could you possibly want in there?”

“That’s on a need to know basis.”

“And seeing as I’m the one you turned to, I’d say I meet the requirements.”

The two stared each other down, Logan tense and Martha relaxed. A lack of reply told her she won, as she always did. He rejected the need to groan in frustration. He knew that this was going to be difficult from the moment he knocked on the door, and his expectations were delivered tenfold.

“What do you want?” He inquired, knowing full well she wasn’t going to help him out of the goodness of her heart.

“How about a coffee? We’ll chat more there.”

And just like that Logan knew that whatever she wanted, she was going to make him go through hell and back to get it and enjoy watching as he did so. Not for the first time he wondered if this was worth it, but he told himself that the protection and benefit of his people back home would make it so. They were the reason why he does anything. He just prays that he’s right about this.

  
  


The capital city of Clover was not the largest city in Moors, but it was quite easy to get lost among all the crazy meandering streets, confusing signs, and roundabouts. Martha insisted that they entwine their arms as to not get separated in the crowd. Logan wanted to argue but he knew that she held power over him at the moment, so he complied with only a slight grimace.

It was too much of a hassle for visiting senators to bring or rent a vehicle while they were stationed here during summits, so they took the underground tram to the city center. It was much nicer and more maintained than the trams back home, but also much more crowded. There weren’t any seats available by the time they made it on, so they stood and held onto the overhead bars. The train swayed back and forth and Logan was sure that Martha was using that as an excuse to accidentally fall into him. Even so, he was a gentleman and helped her stand again.

The cafe Martha had taken them to was a two story shop in the center of the city. Every item on the menu was overpriced for the how small the portions were. Logan got himself a green tea with a blueberry scone, but he couldn’t help but think that his personal chef would have made it better.

Martha sat across from him sipping on a caramel latte. He eyed her suspiciously and kept his guard up. She opened her eyes to his glare and smiled, setting her drink on the table and folding her hands in her lap.

“Always so uptight,” she huffed I’m good humor, “Come now, I don’t bite.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” 

“Kinky,”

“Can we please get back on topic, Miss Quinn?”

“Of course, Lo Lo.” She giggled in a minatory manner, slowly bringing herself closer as she leaned into the table. “So let’s talk business.”

 

…

 

The boys had yet another not so stellar day at school. This time it was because of a math equation. One of the boys’ teacher asked Thomas to solve a math problem in front of the entire class, but when he was unable to because he didn’t understand it, he was forced to sit in the front of the classroom alone throughout lunch. Because of that Emile was left to eat by himself.

Patton had a few choice words he wanted to say, but the words died on his tongue and he was lectured by the teacher instead. He couldn’t defend himself or the boys by saying they never had an education before, after all it was the law that all children go to school. It’d be too much of a risk to say that because only stackers were without education and it could very well lead to them being found out.

So Patton tried to cheer them up in the only way he knew how, by taking them to a playground. About four blocks away from the manor there was a neighborhood park with a large open field and playground. Patton took their little coats and ties and let them play. But he didn’t realize that it wasn’t enough until it as too late. After an hour of the two boys chasing each other around and playing in the dirt, they came back covered in much, their little shorts and shirts completely stained.

He couldn’t be mad at them though, he was just happy that they were happy again. They’d have to go shopping later for both coats  _ and _ playing clothes.

They went back to the manor so the boys could change clothes. Patton apologized profusely and asked Jamie if he would mind to clean their uniforms. Jamie said he didn’t mind, but he could tell that the housekeeper was tired. In return he promised to make mince pie for dinner, Jamie’s favorite food. 

After they were changed into some fresh, less nice, clothes which he had bought for them a few weeks ago, the three went into the sitting room, which had a television, and sat down together. The television played some animated cartoon show as the boys ate a plate of cookies on the floor, Patton reading his new book beside them. The little family still hadn’t got used to having furniture and sat on the ground whenever they were able. 

He let them watch television for another hour before he sent them to do their homework. They complained and whined but he stayed firm this time. Patton wanted to help them with their work, but he was even more lost than they. He made a mental note to check out a book on mathematics later.

After dinner was served and the boys both had baths, he brought them to bed and continued on their latest book. The three of them finished a chapter book about every week and it had become a little routine for them to go to the library on Sunday and pick up a new book to read throughout the week. Currently they were on the ninth chapter of a book of fairytales.

He read through two more chapters before Thomas and Emile fell asleep. Thomas laid spread out like a star, one of his little legs pushed out over his brother’s stomach, while Emile slept curled up in a half crescent shape. Patton smiled at the scene and turned off the light. Gently pushing the covers off of his body, he went over to the window and stared out in the distance. Dark silhouettes loomed high above the horizon. In this light one could mistake it for a neighboring city, but Patton could easily recognize the place he grew up in. 

Logan was due back in five days and he’d be expecting Patton to provide him with the information he requested. The library was a letdown and failed to tell him anything useful, so the only place he could turn to was the place in question. Patton had to go back to the Stacks, and he’d have to do it before the week was over.

 

…

 

The turning of the earth hid the sun from view and brought about the night, allowing the moon to dominate the sky. Shadows danced across the city, creeping into the homes of sleeping citizens through windows and cracks in the doors. Roman stood watch over a family of five. The two little ones were fascinated with the fact that he was there, being the Head of Security and all, but Roman liked to be humble. They had the family swear to secrecy about his presence there so word wouldn’t get out about his involvement in the case.

It’s been twelve days since he started this trap with Talyn. His previous hope and excitement died after the first five days past, replaced with cup after cup of coffee and a lack of showers. Work started for him at seven in the morning and lasted until nine, sometimes ten, at night. He’d either sleep or clean up for a few hours at his apartment, then he’d to his designated spot at midnight and stay in position until dawn. By then his guy had already struck somewhere else.

His brain was buzzed with a lack of sleep, his eyes constantly on the verge of closing. His movements were filed down to the point where he moved similarly to a zombie.

His hosts were becoming increasingly more frustrated, but no more so than him. If it were up to Roman he would have snagged this kid on the first night, but things have not occurred to his favor. He just asked them for a bit more patience and hopped it wouldn’t take too much longer.

The moon was low in the sky despite it only being one in the morning, illuminating the changing of the seasons. Roman sat silently in the family’s living room, waiting. He didn’t care to look at the cameras; it took away from the now. Instead he liked to listen to the noises around him, if a door creaked or a window squeaked, he’d know. Roman has always been more traditional, being raised by his elderly abuela, and didn’t like to use technology when it wasn’t necessary. He’d walk around silently in slippers and check each entrance for signs of forced entry and keep watch over weak spots around the house. 

The next hour passed by in melodic quietude, the hushed sounds of people shifting and sighing in bed reaching his trained ears easily. A lukewarm mug of black coffee was nestled between his chilled fingers, a stilled breeze of cold air blowing against his neck. Roman, in his tired mind, almost missed this fact but then abruptly shot up in awareness. The central heating system turns on and off periodically and was off at the moment. No one was up to create a current of air by moving, and no doors or windows were open either.

A spark of apprehension spiked in his blood and set him ablaze in prepared excitement. Roman turned to where he believed the breeze had come from, the left side of the house on the second floor, most likely the first or second window. He took careful steps, avoid each spot he knew to creak or make noise. Once he reached the second floor he cautiously eased his head around the corner of the hall, peeking into the expansive darkness of the hallway.  

The second window was cracked open. 

Roman’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in anticipation, he searched for the intruder but saw no one. Not wanting to mess up after two months of failure, he bided his time. A few minutes passed until a door on the end of the hall, which contained most of the family’s heirlooms and precious possessions, opened. A small shadowy figure slipped out and sneaked over to the still open window, carrying a black backpack. Mindful of his movement, he took off the house slippers the family have provided for him, and charged. 

Slamming the whole of his weight into the figure at top speed, Roman shot both him and the man into the carpeted flooring. The pale silver light of the moon did not shine for many behind the clouds, but it lightened up this moment as Roman held himself over the man, displaying his features with a light undertone that seemed to enhance the color of his skin. For the first time in a long while, Roman was able to finally take in the man’s image.

A small round face contrasted with thin, firm cheeks. His dark brown eyes appeared almost solid black, perfectly centered in a way that complemented his flat ears. He had freckles on his nose. Roman also noted that he had died his hair from purple to blond in the time they had been apart. Recognition appeared to flash in the thief's eyes for a split second. 

“Finally,” Roman breathed, squeezing his hands around the other’s wrists and pulling them above their head. The flash of panic that passed past their eyes as he did so did not go unnoticed.

Roman reached for the handcuffs on his belt to bind the man and finally take him in; however, a sudden knee to the side of his gut stunted him. Roman winched but did not ease up on his grip, causing more panic in the man below him. He began to kicked at him and squirm frantically, repeatedly hitting the same spot, causing a bruise to form there rapidly. Eventually it became too much and Roman’s grip loosen enough for the man to pull himself out from under him.

The young man made an immediate bolt for the open window, but Roman was able to catch his left leg as he ran past, prompting him to fall back down on his face. They continued their scuffle on the ground, rolling around in a heap of entangled limbs, fighting against each other for control. At some point Roman was able to clasp one cuff onto the man’s arm, but in the dark and confusion he accidentally cuffed his own arm as well. Realizing that he was trapped, the man became even more distraught and sporadic in his motions. He pulled and yanked at his chained wrist, getting back up on his feet, unknowingly directing the two of them to the large, unsecured window. Roman didn’t notice what was going on until it was too late.

They fell out.

Roman was able to catch the window pane and save them from the two story drop straight down onto the hard concrete. The man dangled helplessly, and painfully, by his end of the cuffs. Roman noticed spots of blood beginning to spill from his wrist and grabbed his hand, giving him better support to hold onto to keep from falling.

“Don’t worry, I got you kid.” He tried to comfort him, attempting to haul the both of them up. The man glared at him with a snarl and reached down to, what looked like, a belt on his waist. He pulled a miniature buzz saw the size of a shaving razor.

“Don’t call me a kid.” He hissed, sawing through the metal links that bound them together. 

Once he was free he kicked himself off and tore his hand away from Roman’s, landing gracefully on the ground below. Standing up straight he gave a half glance back to him, still hanging from the window. “See you  _ old man _ .” He ran off, his backpack of stolen possessions hanging from his shoulder.

Roman watched him disappear with a strange feeling of peace. He pulled himself back into the house. The family was awake now, disturbed by the scuffle in their hallway. He gave them a quick explanation and apology, suggesting they call their insurance, and then decided to call it a night and head home, knowing the kid wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack the same place twice in one night after being compromised. 

The moment he made it back to his apartment, after kicking off his shoes and disposing his coat onto the floor, he made sure to contact Talyn and update them on the recent developments. They were ecstatic at the news of the night’s events, proud that their strategy had finally paid off, and was already scheming up their next plan of attack. They spoke fast, their words slurring, and their breath becoming short; all signs that they were exhilarated with glee from an entertaining case. 

Talyn was like his own personal Sherlock, a bit quirky and found stimulation from the cases they took, but with less sociopathic tendencies. Roman was similar to them in that way, although on a much smaller scale, which was one reason why the two of them got along so well together despite having wildly different personalities. 

They went into the specific details of the next addition to their extensive plot, which included a slightly illegal step. 

“In order for this to work, I’m going to need you to take the clearance key into the city’s street cameras. Shouldn’t be too difficult since you are the Head of Security.” 

Under any other circumstances Roman would have said no, his moral compass directing him away from abusing his power or breaking the law he was meant to uphold, but know was not the time to have morality. In this case he was facing something more important than personal right and wrong. If he had to break the law in order to save it, then a simple swipe of a single key couldn’t be the object to stand in his way. Roman told himself what he was doing was right, that it would be worth it in the long run. Yet he couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite. It was painfully ironic that he’d become a thief to stop a thief.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter, but here you go. Thank you for all of your support. I makes me so happy when you leave nice comments :3 I love y'all my lovelies and I'll see ya in the next update!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of anxiety, entrapment, claustrophobia, abuse, sadism (Damien an a**) and hypothermia

Anxiety and fear were the first emotions Virgil could remember as a child, taken from his very first memory as a toddler. Buried under the fallen debris of a fallen stack pile that had given away under the weight of its crude design, Virgil cried for help and begged to be saved. Families had still been asleep in the dead of night when it collapsed, and he had not been the only child to endure the terror of being pinned against the ground by crushing pillars, walls, and shards. Perhaps the tragedy had been the reason why he was raised without his birth parents, he couldn’t remember all of the detail surrounding that night. Still, the images of being surrounded by nothing but darkness and dust, and the pain of only being able to take short, shallow breaths were burned into his mind. The anxiety of being on the constant edge of death, the fear of dying alone in the blackness under mound of debris, it was all he felt for a week until he was found by a group of scavengers looking to sell the metal scraps that had kept him prisoner. 

These feelings did not leave him; he knew they would never truly fade. The darkness still terrified him and being trapped tore him apart from the inside. It broke him apart piece by piece and shattered his soul with each nightmare. It didn’t take Damien long to discover this simple truth, and when he was yet at the tender age of fifteen he had him locked up in a small cage under a tarp so he could enjoy the screams. 

Anxiety and fear had been what shaped his life, ironic that they should be what gave his life meaning as well, as he was a servant to these conflicting emotions. His anxiety of putting his family at risk is what led him to seek out employment under Damien, his fear of what would be done to him if he ran away is what kept him there.

It wasn’t until he was sixteen that he learned these two emotions that had haunted him so could lead to any sort of fulfillment. The moment he had jumped across a building running from his first heist he had been overcome by such an incredible amount of fear and anxiety that he felt like both his chest and head would explode in that second from the sheer pleasure of it all. But when his feet had touched the surface of the building across from him, and he collapsed into an ungraceful heap, scraping his knees, he worn a smile for the first time in a while. Virgil had learned to take on his fear and anxiety head on and morph it into something entirely different and take joy from the experience it gave him, instead of simply letting it control him and hold him down. Virgil then continued to push the boundaries of these experiences, using the high of his adrenaline to get through his pain and beat down his terror; becoming braver and bolder in these instances when he felt free.

That wasn’t what he was feeling right now. No, this was something else. Although he wasn't sure what it was or if it was good or bad.

Virgil jumped from roof to roof as fast as he could, running along the walls of the allies, attempting to make a grave escape from the man who followed him on foot in the alleyways below the buildings that carried his feet. This had been the third time in little over a week that this same officer had been able to not only trace his targets, but also pin him into a corner and take away his ability to fight; leaving his only available option to flee.

Wherever this man got his information to track him, Virgil still had a trick card up his sleeve, and that was his experience. Folks from the upper ends of society didn’t go into alleys, they were to dirty and off putting for them to stain there polished shoes. Even the police didn’t use the alleys as ways of constant travel. For Virgil, that all that they were, as he could risk walking on main streets for too long, looking like a stacker made him stick out like an ape among men. Nevertheless, the old man had still caught on to him.

In these short meetings and chances few words were ever exchanged, a few jabs or comments filled part of the space between them but it was mostly focused on the fight and flight. The old man sure did like to make declarations though.

“You’re not going to get away this time, kid!” The man shouted through heavy pants as he ran directly underneath him, using the nickname he had taken on to refer to Virgil.

“Sorry old man,” Virgil called back at him, dropping down the rooftop to a large brick wall that separated the alley from the open street behind it, standing fifteen feet tall with no dumpsters around to allow his chaser to climb up after him, “but I just led you to a dead end.”

The man looked back in confusion and turned his eyes back in front of him and hastily began to slow down in his pace, narrowly avoiding a rough collision into the wall. Virgil’s chest heaved in heavy breaths, his legs giving out under him and burning with ache. The man also appeared to be worse for wear and leaned his side into the wall of the nearby building.

“Ha, you tired already?” The officer jeered with a huff, holding a hand over his chest.

“You’re one to talk old man,” Virgil laughed. He enjoyed poking fun at this guy's age, as he did to him, because it was so obvious he didn't like being called old. Picking himself back up and steering his way to the gutter drain on the side of the building to his right, putting his hands on it with the intent to slide down to safety. “You should be careful, next time you might have a heart attack.” With that quip he let himself down the wall and building, successfully avoiding capture once again as he ran off into the rays of dawn.

He spent no time getting back to the nearest alley and scaling the next building he came upon to travel back his normal way. The trouble is that in order to escape he had to run in the opposite direction of where he was supposed to go. Luckily the damaging light of the morning sun would mean that very few eyes would be looking up and would cover his movement until he made it into the lower districts. A trick was taught around the Stacks for those who worked in daylight hours underneath the blazing sun and did not own gear to protect their eyes. Soot from the mining companies that was littered into their homes as dumping grounds could be used to color the skin to surrounding the eyes to block out the sun as sunglasses would. Virgil wore it constantly as both a tool and for the aesthetic. 

The end product of the night had been rather disappointing, him only being able to snatch a few pearl necklaces and gold-rimmed watches as testimony to his night, not nearly as much was he would normally bring back if he hadn’t been stunted. Damien will surely be furious, but not much could be said to defend himself, not unless he wanted to reveal this most recent development, which he didn’t. If Damien discovers that he not only had been discovered, but was being repeatedly chased down, he’d have him pulled out of the field and locked up for as long as it took to repay his debt, which was well over a lifetime. And knowing the disgusting bastard he’d do it with pleasure. The only reason he wasn’t doing now was because Virgil was one of his main benefactors who paid for his lavish lifestyle. He had locked him up for two weeks before as a punishment for a slip of the tongue before, if news about the old man got out to him Virgil would never see the light of day. Virgil was bound by order to tell Damien everything that happened in his life, but this little detail had to be kept secret if he wanted to keep his life.

The last stretch of land leading from the twelfth distinct into the thirteenth district fell away as Virgil jumped down from a fire escape ladder and into the pothole ridden-road. The near area was virtually desolate, foreclosure signs on almost every other building, the rest already abandoned and left to crumble away. The depression had reached this place five years ago, and look what had happened to it in that short time. If he didn’t know better Virgil would have assumed he had made it back to the Stacks early. He wasn’t far off though.

The thirteenth district was a forsaken place and had been taken over by the local crime and scum. The lure of concrete buildings and safety had often led stackers here like moths to a flame only to get horribly burned. The lower districts were no safer than the stacks. Virgil walked through the filthy streets, sticking an equal distance away from the empty buildings and from the road to avoid being picked up, and made his way towards the familiar hotel and apartment buildings. As he crept down the basement steps of the alley he noted that the ceiling of the apartment had finally caved in.

The basement was just as cold and damp as it always was, but this time he noted that there was an oddly warm breeze coming from somewhere in the open room. Tiptoeing around he discovered that the hot air had originated from an electronic heater hooked up to a car battery.

“You like it? I just hooked that up last night.” Remy’s higher pitched voice came from behind, startling him.

“‘Bout time you found a replacement for the old one.” Virgil said, referencing to the heater that had broken down the year before.

“Didn’t need one until now.” Remy shrugged, padding over on bare feet, still dressed in his night clothes with a mug of coffee in his hands. “So, you have anything to sell?”

Virgil shook his head, “Not at the moment, I have to report back to the boss before I can sell you shit.” 

“Ah yeah, that rule. How’s the fucker been treating you since you’ve been back?” Remy asked, sitting down at his desk swinging his legs on top of the counter.

“How do you think?” Virgil scoffed, “still the same shitbag as ever, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh? Then why are you here?”

Virgil slumped back into the ratty couch, grunting when he was momentarily winded, and crossed one leg over the other.

“I’m being tracked by a cop, I don’t know how, but he’s almost caught me three times this week. He cornered me once during a heist, but each time after that it’s been while I’m making my getaway. I was hoping you had an idea of what’s going on and could help me avoid jail.”

“Hm,” Remy hummed through tight lips, scooting his roller chair with his feet around the desk and closer to the couch, creating a funny image, “Well I don’t know how you’re this dude is cornering you, but I might have something that could assist you in avoiding the bars.”

“And what would that be?”

Remy smirked and hopped up from his seat, kicking his feet it the air and twirling around to his storage area. Rummaging around through the many boxes and shelves there, throwing things around, creating a mess in his wake, he squealed gleefully when he finally landed his hands on whatever it was he was looking for. With a skip in his step, Remy handed him a new pair of black gloves, intricate patterns of wiring coating the outside.

“What are these?” Virgil inquired, turning them over in his hands.

“Tasers!” The black-marketer giggled as if he had just handed his friend a toy, “The taser sends a pulse with about 50,000 volts and a few milliamps, not nearly enough to kill, but enough to stun your man and allow you time to escape. I know you’re pretty pathetic when it comes to fighting, and throwing knives are more you’re style, but they'll help you if you’re pinned again.”

Virgil looked back to the gloves with new interest and slipped them on. They fit perfectly. There was a small switch on the wrists of the gloves that guessed was meant to turn the tasers on and off. He smiled a little at the look of them and fantasized using them on Damien the next time he dared to touch him; although he knew that that was a foolish dream. He hadn’t found a way to stop the chase, but at least with this he could stay one step ahead.

“I’ll be taking twenty silvers from your next paycheck for these.”

Of course he would do that.

 

…

 

No one reacted when Logan locked himself in his study upon arrival back from the Senatorial Summit. No one explained why the meal Patton had prepared went cold on the table when it was left untouched by everyone except him and his boys, or why he wasn’t called upon to bring the young master his dinner later that night. The next day had come and he hoped that the senator would be better, but he was disappointed when Logan left to his office that morning without sitting down for breakfast, or at least taking some with his as he usually does.

Three days had passed. Logan didn’t speak to his staff and refused to leave his quarters after he arrived at the manor each day from the office. He wasn’t accepting any of the meals made for him and would only eat what Elise had prepared. Patton tried not to let the offense seep in and tried to see through a rational light; but nothing he could imagine in his head could rectify his most recent behavior. 

Patton would still cook for the staff and his children as he was meant to, but it no longer felt the same, as if the color had been drained from the painting of his life. In truth his routine wasn’t changed all that much, it wasn’t as if he had spent all of his hours with the senator prior to his leave. He would still wake at dawn to bake the daily bread and prepare the staff’s morning meal, walk his sons to school after they were full, and then entertain the dull hours until he made the staff’s lunch. Yet, somehow it all seemed greyer.

The vibrant garden was one of the very few places in the dim, shadowed manor that shined to him and provided him with joy. The other two being the sitting room and the kitchen; even his own quarters was often unpleasant to him. There in the center of the garden was a small pond filled by a fountain sculpture of a family of white swans. The frost that settled on the stone rim surrounding the water melted as he sat down, dampening his khakis. A breeze blew past him and ruffled the golden bronze curls of his hair, causing his bangs to shift into the way of his downward gaze. Patton watched as this chilled wind disturbed the once peaceful flowers, bringing them into a swayed dance that became a harsh frisk. A single petal of a small, but beautiful, iris fell to the ground. Winter was coming and soon all of these flowers would wither and die from the harsh weather. This lone and puny flower would most likely be the first to die.

Patton thought back to the cruel winters he had been forced to endure throughout his life. As a young child he had lived with his parents in a cloth tent at the base of a small stack. His father as a servant to the time’s current mob boss, Alaine, and was tasked with cleaning the grounds. His mother was a seamstress who worked for peanuts in the twelfth district. The two of them worked night and day to bring back scraps; warm blankets were unaffordable so they were always on the verge of freezing to death. That tent was all he knew until he had gotten his own job as a garbage boy in a tenth district restaurant at the age of nine, which helped his mother and him move into a rundown truck as their first home with secured walls. The cold nights dropped low inside that truck, but it was at least a few degrees warmer than their old cloth tent and didn’t leak when the snow melted. He still didn’t own a proper blanket when he moved into the bus, the truck taken from him by an armed stacker, but its thick walls made up for the lack thereof.

At least five bodies dropped on the daily due to inadequate protection from the elements each winter season in the Stacks. When he was still in there Patton had done all he could to make sure his children would not be one of their daily bodies to fall. Selling what he could to buy a proper blanket, keeping a warm fire inside of the bus, contained within the small cooking pot he owned. He would huddle close to Virgil to make sure he wouldn’t freeze, doing the same to the twins when he adopted them after Virgil left. 

Patton was never in control of what happened around him in his life. He couldn’t stop his parents from dying and he couldn’t stop Virgil’s debt from growing. Even now he couldn’t help his sons with fitting in or making friends or catching up with their education. He felt useless and unneeded. His own boss no longer called on him to fulfill the role he had been hired for. And this flower, he could not even halt its demise.

Holding his head up from where it had hung below his shoulders, Patton turned his eyes to gaze at the helpless flower, who couldn’t save itself either. Patton may not have been able to do all that he wished he could for those who surrounded him in his time as a common stacker, but he had plans to make it different. And he could save this flower now. 

Standing up from his spot, Patton ran back into the manor and went to his bedroom to search for his old cooking pot that he had brought from the Stacks as one of his few treasured possessions. This pot was one of the few trinkets his father was allowed to bring when he was forced from his home, and the sole item he had to remember the man he had known for only a few short years before he died, only to be joined by his mother less than ten years later. Once he retrieved the little pot he went back to the garden and found the little iris. With his bare hands he scooped the flower out of its earthly bed, mindful of its thin roots, and gently transferred it to the cooking pot, filling the space around it with the dirt that had once surrounded it. 

His hands were now caked with dirt, filling the crevices underneath his nails and painting his skin a brownish color, but he did not mind at all. Patton got up once more and brought the flower away. He was cautious of the others finding out what he had done and stepped through the halls delicately, peering around every corner for Elise, Jaime, or Ahmed. However, the one person he did not expect to see was the one to catch him in the act. The moment he had placed his foot on the first step of the staircase up to the second floor the front door of the manor swung open, Ahmed welcoming Logan in, both of them pausing at the sight of his dirt covered form.

“Afternoon Mr. Sanders, what have you been up to that has led you to be covered in dirt?” Logan questioned, motioning with his hand for Ahmed to return to how he was. Patton maneuvered his body to bring the pot behind his back as he turned to hide it from sight, but Logan was not fooled and noticed it right away. “And what are you hiding?”

Patton flinched slightly and sighed, knowing it was pointless to hide the flower any longer.

“Forgive me, Senator,” He apologized and pulled out the recently potted plant, “but this iris was dying in the cold.”

Logan looked at the plant in surprise, clearly expecting almost anything except the flower to be hiding behind him. Patton stepped away from the staircase and held the pot out to him, as a child would, for it to be taken away. Logan took a few steps to approach him, but kept a wide distance between them.

“All of the flowers die this time of year, as they do every year, and come back in the spring.” 

“I know, but this one is little and frail. What if it doesn’t come back?”

“A new one could be planted in its place.”

Patton lowered his eyes to the little iris, tightening his hold on the cooking pot that held it, bringing it to rest against his chest. 

“But that flower wouldn’t be this one. A plant is a living creature, shouldn’t its life be valued and protected as ours is?” His voice shuddered, his entire body shivering unnaturally from the tension that hung over their conversation. Logan said nothing for a while, monitoring Patton with calculating eyes, making the chef feel conscious of himself.

“You speak as if the flower is sentient.” He spoke finally, walking around him in a crescent direction, ending up next to him at the foot of the stairs.

“Can you say that it’s not?” Patton challenged, facing him directly, unaware of where his sudden boldness came from.

“No, I guess not,” Logan chuckled slightly, his voice oddly light. The corners of his mouth went up momentarily in a miniscule grin before he forced them back into a flat line. He shuffled back and forth on his feet, his work coat flowing around his movements, glancing around the objects that occupied the room, and then glanced back at the flower Patton was still clutching in his arms. “I could have an actual flower pot brought to you if you’d like.” He nodded towards the cooking pot, glancing at it curiously.

“Oh no it’s okay,” Patton piped up, waving a hand in front of him, “I’m fine with this pot.”

“Alright then,” Logan inclined, his voice returning to the robotic, monotone it usually was, “Well I won’t be here for long, please prepare me a quick meal for my lunch while I take care of some business.”

The nonchalant direction of his words caused Patton’s eyebrows to rise in slight, them furrowing faintly from his lack of apology for his treatment over the past few days. Logan walked passed him up the stairs with no issue, giving Patton multiple to spare.

“What about Elise? You’ve seemed to rather enjoying her cooking over mine lately.” Patton chided without thought of consequence prior to spitting out the remark. However the glare he received over his boss’s cold shoulder swiftly whipped him back into his place with a harsh wince of regret. 

“Elise… you mean to tell me that you haven’t been preparing my meals since I’ve arrived?” He interrogated, rotating his body around on the steps, standing at least three heads taller than Patton despite them actually being the same exact height when on equal grounds. Patton looked down at his shoes sheepishly, aware of himself.

“Y-yeah, that what she told me you had ordered.” 

“She told- ugh that stubborn,” He grind out through clenched teeth. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Logan rubbed his brows together and relaxed himself, turning back to Patton once he had calmed. “Forgive me. I never made such an order. In fact I was wondering if your skill had dimmed in the time I was absent. I’m glad they didn’t.”

Patton almost chuckled at that but didn’t find it appropriate to do so.

“Good, well now that that’s cleared up, I expect to eat in thirty minutes so I can head back to the office on time.”

“Right away, sir!”

He backed away from the steps with a shallow bow, heading away to the kitchen with the little iris still in his grasp.

“Oh, and Mr. Sanders,” Logan called to him before he disappeared completely. Patton swung back towards him, curiosity in his eyes, “I’d like to talk to you later tonight once I arrive back from work.” 

Patton’s eyes widened a little and he nodded, hoping that he meant that they were finally going to discussion the issue of his letter.

“Okay,” Patton agreed, returning on his way to the kitchen. Before he turned the corner around the hall Patton caught the sight of Logan walking up the velvet staircase in his peripheral and smiled. For all that caused Elise to lie intentionally to take over his position as the sole chef to the young master of the house, Patton was at least glad that he was still needed by Logan.

 

…

 

“-ir… sir… sir!”

“Ah! I’m awake!” Roman shouted out, his head jolting up from its previous spot on his desk, a line of dried drool staining his cheek. His yell gained the short attention of the office secretaries and assistants, but the other seat holders paid no attention to his antics. He yawned and stretched his arms out over his head, sighing at the delightful rhythm of pops and cracks as he did so, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. Once his vision was clear Roman looked up to his assistant, who was standing across from his desk with her arms crossed.

“You fell asleep, sir,” Diana deadpanned and dropped a pile of paperwork on the part of his desk where his head had been. Roman held his temple and winced at the loud noise, reaching over to his coffee mug to try to wake up, “the Trust Fund just faxed in its annual expenditures. You were supposed to look over the files to make sure everything was in line, but you were asleep so I took care of it.”

“Mhm,” He murmured, setting his mug back down on its coaster, “Thank you for that, Ana. I will write up a report on it right away.”

“No need, I did that too, I just need you to look it over and sign your name.”

“Sign  _ both _ of our names, you mean. Thank you Ana.” Roman corrected her, opening up the stapled packet to begin reading over her work. Diana raised a brow slightly at that, her eyes softening a tad bit.

“Yes, well, I only did just the one. You have five more waiting in your folder due tomorrow.” She clicked her pen, jotting down noted on her clipboard, acting nonchalant as Roman began to freak out over her statement.

“What?! Why didn’t you notify me of this earlier?!”

“I did, sir, but you were half-asleep then too.”

Roman groaned and put his face in his palms, dragging his hands down his face and then running then through his hair in stress. Despite his current mood he thanked his secretary again and got started on his work, reading over the piece she already finished before stamping it and moving on to the next agency report from the Workers Protection Organization. 

Because of his nightly ventures sleep has become a fickle thing, leading to him falling behind on his work as of late. Miss Meyers has assisted him on staying on top of most of his duties, but he was slipping more and more each day. Diana, in response to his struggle, has taken over much of his responsibilities in order to make up for his slack and keep the Security Department running as it should. He was sure that the entire faculty knew of it by now and gossiping about his failures.

Yet, he put no blame on his actions themselves and only on his brain’s inability to function appropriately on three hours of sleep. Roman could not bring himself to regret his endeavors; he could never regret his attempts to bring down a criminal terror. In spite of his slowing performance quality and constant fatigue, he could not stop. The longer it took for him to arrest this crook the more valuables are stolen. Talyn’s chief inspector was already on their ass about not having captured the guy yet, and the public was only becoming more worried with each news report. So, no, he could not stop.

However, seeing as this wasn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep at work within the past week, perhaps he should slow down. Thankfully, with Talyn’s surveillance system, he was finally able to do just that. Acquiring the access key to the city’s surveillance system was easy for him, and so was sneaking it to Talyn, they had the hard part of building in a program to alert them of whenever a face with a seventy percent match or higher appeared on camera. Roman did have to stay with them until they found his face in the first place since he was the only one who knew what he looked like, but they simply went through the footage of the night he attacked the house Roman had been guarding to narrow their search.

This system wasn’t full proof and it didn’t mean that they were going to capture him right away, although Roman accepted that with a grain of salt, but it did mean that he didn’t have to wait all hours of the night in the wrong location anymore. He may be tired now, but things were looking up for him.

“Sir, Senator Winchester would like to see you in his office.” Diana’s voice spoke through the monotone speaker on his desk phone.

Of course this would happen to him. That’s what he got for thinking.

  
  


The feel of the floor was instantly, and completely different the second the elevator door opened. The noise that filled the air was a hushed and easy drone was the opposite of the constant buzz and chatter of his floor. The floor was spacious and open, not filled to the brim with secretaries and assistants running around completing errands. There was a calm and focused mood that carried over the closed doors and two secretary stations melded into one single crescent desk. It elicited a powerful aura that certainly defined his good friend. Jonathan sat at his usual post outside Logan’s office typing away at his computer keyboard. He tilted his head at Roman in acknowledgement as he walk up and buzzed him in, announcing his arrival to the senator.

The office to the provincial senator somehow managed to appear even more vast and academic than the floor outside the door. Bookshelves filled with binders and secured books were ordered alphabetically, filing cabinets that rose high above one’s head all had labels on each door to identify the contents inside; clear enough that Logan could find what he needs, and vague enough that peepers couldn’t see too much. An L shaped sofa sat in the far center of the room accompanied with a coffee table. Roman was tempted at a nap just looking at the soft cushions.

“Ahem,” Logan coughed; gaining Roman’s wandering attention, bringing his eyes to his placement at the massive desk at the left of the room. 

Logan looked at him unimpressed with a flat face. Roman chuckled awkwardly and clenched his hands at his sides, making his way closer with careful treads of the foot. 

“You, uh, you wanted to see me?” Roman began,

“I did,” Logan said standing from his seat, fixing his coat as he did, “It’s come to my attention that you’ve been sleeping on the job.” Logan walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, his face softening, “Are you alright, my friend?”

By any means that reply was a lot worse than if he had been yelled at and scorned. Roman gaped at him in a stunned shock, at a loss for words. He had entirely expected to get the same long, criticizing lecture Logan had always given him back in university when he would slack off before exams.

“I’m- I’m just a little worn down,” He answered unconfidently, put off and hesitant to let the truth of what he’s been doing slip. Logan’s face hardened once again.  

“Well that’s no excuse to slack off in a position such as yours.” He told him sternly, taking his hand away. “I chose you in confidence, I expect you to satisfy that.”

‘And he’s back.’ Roman thought in comedic relief.

Logan moved back and strode over towards the window that overlooked their expansive city. Roman followed after but kept at a distance, keeping his eyes on him. As the silence between them ensued Roman decided to join in him in his gazing. The sun was still quite high, as it was still but two hours after noon, but the path towards dusk was clearly set. The high rises and skyscrapers stood out across the landscape as architectural masterpieces of the achievements modern technology has reached. It all looked so peaceful. 

But then he turned his head a little to the left, and the Stacks came into view. He ground his teeth at the rudimentary sight of their heinous structures. It was a complete dichotomy from their luscious city center he had been viewing a moment earlier. Regardless of the area being so far separated from the rest of them, it looked so clearly hideous it was no wonder it was a home to rats.

Roman’s thoughts trickled back to the kid he’s been chasing after for the past few months. He was tricky and clever, his run in with him less than twelve hours ago and all the ones before proved as much. He didn’t seem like a vicious rat, rather so much as a troublesome mouse.

“Tell me Roman, who are our people?” Logan questioned out of the blue, taking Roman out of his strayed thoughts and reminding him that he was still in the presence of the senator. The question was entirely odd and caught him off guard. Logan was asking after his welfare but now Roman felt like asking after his in return.

“The citizens of our province, of course.” Roman replied simply.

“Hm, and who are our citizens?” Logan pressed on.

“Everyone born within our borders or has the proper paperwork, I suppose.” 

“And where do those borders begin and end? What qualifies as proper paperwork?”

Roman stood beside him, his attention completely diverted off of the picture outside, while the other’s was entirely drawn to that painting. They had known each other for years since their time together in university, Roman would say he knows the other well enough to practically read his thoughts, but he had never felt more clueless as to what was going on in his head.

“I’m sorry I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

Logan looked away from the cityscape, and sighed, “No one seems to.”

 

…

 

Long nights were nothing unusual in his field; in fact they were expected given his rank. Logan wished he could have returned to the manor at a better hour, but alas but it could not be helped. Not even a week back from summit and it already feels as if he had never left with how time consuming it all was. The stress of the now will be worth it in the end when his people have better lives.

Along the drive back to the manor, the quietness of the journey was filled with the loud remembrance of his chat earlier with Roman. He hadn’t been entirely angry with him for his behavior, he knew what he was asking for when he offered the position, but he was slightly disappointed. Logan was relying on his friend’s strong mind and will to help him accomplish his goals during his term as Senator. Five years may not be enough time to curve the economy back high enough to force the depression to recede. But that’s not what his mind was solely focused on. His thoughts continually brought him back to his sudden change of topic that even he was surprised by. 

Indeed the T.S.E.I has been a plague upon his mind for quite awhile now and he found himself trying to find explanation on his own through reason, but found none. The awareness of the Stacks existence was a trivial matter, after all it could easily be seen by looking out a window, but the origins and happening of the Stacks was more clouded and obscure. No one really knew who it was that lived there in those rough towers, or how they got there. As children they were taught that the Stacks was a decision by the government that kept them safe from crime, hunger, and want. That it was an honor to be sent there to ensure your neighbor had a kind life. Yet his people suffered from all the things they were promised safety from, and stackers were found constantly trying to escape the life they were so “honorably” given. 

That brought another question to the forefront of his thoughts: If living in the Stacks was a privilege and a service, why are they trying to escape and why isn’t the government helping them as well. It was common belief that everyone in that place was either a criminal or a degenerate; but that stipulation arose within the past decade around the time he was but a boy and was not always the case. If this was governmental run then why weren’t the stackers citizens like everyone else; why were their homes so poorly made; why were there laws to keep them from work; why were stackers so universally hated?

And why didn’t he, the head and Senator of the province, know anything about it? 

These people were born in the country just as everyone else, they deserved the same treatment, and Logan wanted to find out why they weren’t getting it. His deal with Martha Quinn was a fool’s errand that has provided no information and could potentially cost him greatly, but who else would help these people if he did not have the spine to take a little risk. It may be a result of his youth and lack of experience in politics to do such a thing, but that made it a good excuse to his fellow senators. For now, he could only rely on whatever assistance his lower class chef could provide.

Upon his arrival Logan sought out the presence of said chef, requesting his location from Ahmed, who stood in position at the front door to let him in. His long time guard told him that the man in question was currently sitting in the gardens while his sons slept. Logan thanked him and headed for the back entrance to the veranda. Ahmed offered to accompany him but he politely declined. 

The moon was waning from full tonight and offered enough light to see without the lanterns. The orchestra of crickets and running water from the fountain provided a delightful ring to his ear as the chilled air nipped at his uncovered nose and ears. Logan wrapped his coat tighter around himself and padded out onto the cobblestone pathway that led out into his flower gardens. Despite the darkness of the night, Logan was still able to see the vibrancy of his flowers and the beauty of their design. It had been quite awhile since he had been out here himself, over a year in fact, and he had forgotten how lovely it was.

A whimsical humming chimed closely which he soon discovered came from his chef Patton Sanders. Patton was sitting on his knees in the grass, a basket beside him, plucking flowers up from the ground by their roots.

“I hope you don’t intent to move my entire garden into the house, Mr. Sanders.” He jested lightly. Patton swung around and popped up from the grass at his voice, backing away in guilt.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” He shouted in apology, bowing his head, “My boys saw the iris I brought in and wanted ones for themselves. I couldn’t say no to their adorable faces.”

Logan smiled at this, moved by his loved for his children that caused him to take flowers from the garden he had been told not to take from earlier that same day. It was childish and sorely ill-witted, but still entirely endearing. If only his own father had been similar. 

“It’s alright, however flowers are an odd gift to give to children so young.”

The buoyant man giggled at that, “Well my boys are a collective bunch. They love plants since there weren't many where we-” He suddenly stopped in his though, as if he were stopping himself from revealing a fact that was best kept hidden, and perhaps he was.

Patton coughed and bent to pick up his small basket of only two flowers, a begonia and a snapdragon, “Anyway, did you come here for something? I left your dinner on the table as usual.”

“Yes, well I came in regards of the letter I addressed to you while I was in Clover.” He said, walking down the garden path and motioning for Patton to follow after him, and he did. “You received it, did you not?”

“I did! But unfortunately I can’t provide everything at the moment,” Logan deflated at this, and Patton probably noticed because he quickly followed up with, “But I’m sure I can answer at least a few of your questions.”

Logan breathed in relief, pleased that he at least had one person he could rely on. It made him feel slightly less alone in this dangerous venture. Strolling along under the pastel light of the shining moon they came upon a wisteria tree and sat down on a bench where they sat and talked for quite a while despite the chill. Eventually it became clear that it was much too cold to continue on like that, especially since Patton was not wearing a coat.

“Pardon my asking, but where is your jacket?” Logan asked.

“Oh, I don’t have one. Must’ve been lost in the move I guess.” Patton laughed although he could tell it was forced. 

Shrugging off his own overcoat from his body Logan draped it over the other man’s shoulders for him to use. Patton tried to dismiss the gesture but Logan would not have it, it was his fault that he was out there shivering anyways. The childish chef pouted but conceded, slipping his arms through the sleeves and wrapping the front around him for warmth. In spite of them being the same height, the coat still looked rather large on him, and black was certainly not his color.

With all that could be said at the moment being said, the two returned to the manor, both eager to warm up. The long forgotten meal was left alone on the table, but Logan didn’t feel to hungry and requested it be saved for later, having Elise take care of that since it was for the best that Patton get into a warm bed as soon as possible. He did not miss the glare she gave to their newest servant and felt that he’d need to have a talk with her about it later. At the time they reached the second floor outside the hallway to the servants’ rooms the two of them had been chatting about utter nonsense, but did not mind the pleasant feeling of each other’s company. Patton offered him his coat back with gratitude, bidding him goodnight and returning to his quarters. Logan watched him disappear through his door before he went up to his own room.

Their chat had provided him with a few key points on life in the Stacks supposedly told from neighbors and travelling persons back in the sixth district. It wasn’t anything too fantastic, but they were helpful notes nonetheless. If he was fortunate enough he’d be able to learn everything he needed to from Patton without the assistance of Martha but that was unlikely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so hard to write! I had the inspiration but not the motivation! But in the end I'm very proud of this chapter. Please forgive minor grammatical errors, I tried my best. Thank you to all who read this story and leave kudos and comments, it means the world to me to hear your feedback.  
> Until next time, my lovelies!
> 
> Also, side note, each plant mentioned in this chapter has a deeper meaning muahahaha


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mentions of death, graphic detail, body negativity, self loathing

The first snow had arrived before winter was to begin, just as he had suspected. The snow drifted down upon the flat landscape, plating the surface with a sheer white visage, not yet plagued with tracks of the living. A chill sang an eerie whisper through the wind, carrying it to the large and to the small, the old and the young, the rich and the poor, for all to hear. Innumerable were deaf to the wind’s purposeful whispers, their unaware minds crowded to the highest capable capacity with thoughts of other commodities all centering on themselves. Children wondered of play and pleasure, thinking only of fun, but  were troubled by the hours that would be wasted away in their classes. Downstairs the adults prepared themselves for their day of leisure work. The occupations of the adults were varied and different, some sitting all day while others stood for a living. They would have to deal with their fellow citizens through phone or face-to-face, or they worked alone with little to no interaction required. Many complained about the aches and pain that they knew would come at the day’s end, of loathsome coworkers that they’d have to deal with, moaning for their unfortunate and dim lives.

The adults walked out, guiding their rambunctious children to the local private and public schools, leaving them carelessly in the safety of strangers without concern. Adults tramped the ground under feet as they went about their lives, children kicked at the ground as they messed around in the yards, neither noticing the destruction to the purity underneath their paths.

Patton watched in horror as such a delicate and peaceful part of the earth was trampled by the uncaring people of status, and whether they knew it or not, they all thought themselves above the earth. 

In his mind’s eye, he saw the snow shift from untainted white to a coarse red, running like blood. The cries of children who knew little of wonder howled in his ears, wailing of mothers who lost newborns to the unforgiving ice echoed a pulse through his chest, and screams of survivors counting the number that had fallen within a handful of hours from the want of protection pierced his soul. Patton stood above them on a tall hill, overlooking the torment from inside a warm cabin, with a nice fire roaring.

Frantically he spun around, looking in every corner of the house to find his family, which he did not see. Running into the backyard he saw the twins sitting in the snow, no tracks indicating that they had walked there. He called to them to come inside and warm up, but they did not answer. In worry for their health he went to them. There he noticed that they were looking over a body, Virgil’s body. He lay there asleep; his lips blue, the rise and fall of his chest slow and far in between. Patton bent beside him and called his name, but just as with the twins, he received no answer. Grabbing his shoulder and side he attempted to wake Virgil up by shaking him, but no difference was made.

Light footfalls in the near distance brought his attention away from his eldest. Coming towards them was Logan, holding a scythe in one hand, and medicine in the other.

“What would you have me do for him?” His fading voice asked gently.

  
  
  


He jolted awake with a heavy shiver, raising himself onto his elbows but not quite sitting up, his body sweating and shaking from the dream, or nightmare. Looking to his side he saw that Thomas and Emile were safe and sound in bed beside him, deeply asleep. Thomas was spread out wildly as usual over his brother and lightly snoring, while Emile was as silent as a mouse and as peaceful as one too. Mindfully pushing himself off from the mattress and untangling himself from the sheets, Patton padded on light feet over to the window and looked out. The world was shadowed by the night and the new moon.

The snow had come several days ago, and was made new overnight. Untrampled as it had been in his dream. A shuttered breath escaped past his lips without his conscious consent. The night was still dark, but a light hue of red in the far distance told the promise of morning. Patton looked over his shoulder at his sons, gazing at them with a frown of concern.

In his dream they were separated from him and unresponsive. They didn’t speak a word nor spare a glance to him. While they were never like this in the waking world, Patton always had a hidden fear they would eventually disown him as their father. The boys were well aware of the fact that he was not their real father and that their actual dad was taken away, but they still treated Patton as if he were their real dad, because he’s the only one they’ve even known. Even still, Patton feared for a day when they grew up and no longer needed him to be their parent, as Virgil had.

His eldest had been a different case, as the boy had been alone and feral from a young age with no parents or caretakers to speak of, which led him to always keep a specific distance from Patton, solemnly calling him his dad. He didn’t worry that he’d want to go back to his real parents, but he did worry that he wouldn’t need him to be one.

In the end he was correct. Virgil stopped relying on his care after four years when he became fifteen, finding work for himself. A few years later he left his home with Patton and moved out into a crate of his own before he even reached the age of twenty. Virgil had always been independent, not needing, and rarely wanting care. He didn’t even appear once for the first three months when Patton went to the station to see him every Friday, returning week after week with hope to see his son only to leave him bitterly hopeful for the next week until he finally stopped going. Patton had always been emotionally dependent, needing to be intimate with others and surrounded by people. Rejection was his greatest fear, besides spiders.

The dream had showed him a piece of that fear, but why did it? There was nothing prompting this feeling, nothing he could think of anyways. He was in a good spot of life, well fed and clothed, with his children safe and being properly educated.

A glance back to the outside answered his question. The soundless snow falling upon a pitch black void brought back haunting images of what it is like to face that darkness directly. All his life he lived in that environment, and this is his first time taken out. His body expected the annual fight for survival and desperation to stay warm, and when that didn’t come it became confused. Such a change was it that Patton more often than not found himself overheating inside the manor despite the cold outside. Yet, thousands more were facing it directly at that very moment. He may have left that life behind, but he can’t forget his roots and everyone he knew that still lived there.

He removed himself from his place at the window and went to his wardrobe, changing from his sleeping gown into the clothing he had arrived in. With a coat covering it, he would look like a normal high end servant, without a coat he could blend in with everyone in the Stacks. Patton grabbed his pack, so he’d have a place to hide his coat, and slipped in a throw blanket. Silently stepping over to his two children, Patton gave each of them a soft kiss on the forehead and whispered them a goodbye. Walking out of his room, he carefully closed the door to keep the noise low, and then exited the house through the servant entrance. Ahmed had been patrolling the grounds as per usual and stopped him before he could make it to the gate.

“You’re up early,” The security guard said pointedly.

“Yes, well uh- the Senator requested a rather difficult meal for his breakfast. I need to get a head start to grab the groceries.”

“An hour before dawn?”

“It will take me a long time to cook.”

Ahmed didn’t appear entirely convinced of his fabricated story, but he let him pass nonetheless, most likely so he could catch him in his lie later. He’d have to make sure to buy some food before he returned to make it more realistic. Patton jogged at an easy pace to the nearest tram station, purchasing a pass to take him to the twelfth district, which was the closest one could get to the Stacks by means of tram. The station was nearly empty, the tram already there and awaiting for passengers. He sat alone in a large booth, one of three in the entire car. It was the first tram of the day by the looks of it, so he had to wait for a few maintenance checks to be taken before they left.

The green light was given and they were all set to go. The doors started to close on the sides when the sounds of loud yells echoed through the terminal. Patton turned around in his seat and saw a man wearing white joggers and a red jacket running towards the car behind him. However, the doors closed before he reached them and the tram began to leave him behind him as he called for someone he called “kid.” In the car behind him, connected to his by a thin door that anyone could pass through if they so choose, someone, who Patton assumed was “kid”, called back to him.

“Catch up old man!” They shouted.

Patton swore his heart skipped a beat at hearing a voice he had heard in months. He rose up from his seat, taking wary steps to the door that connected the two cars. Peering through the glass he looked around the neighboring car and spotted one lone person sitting curled up in a fetal position on his seat. He wore clean and slim clothing, half of his face hid by the scarf wrapped around his neck. His son may physically look slightly different, but a father never forgets his children. It was definitely Virgil sitting in that booth.  

A sudden weakness struck him and forced him to sit back down, lest he fall down or pass out, his breath now shakier than the moment prior. It had been so very long since he had last seen Virgil, approximately four or five months, seeing him again after all that time had passed was nothing short of overwhelming. Returning back to the door Patton went back to steal another glance at his son. The joyful smile he wore lasted less than a second once he noticed both the bright blond hair on top of his head and the somber look on his face. He looked upset and tired, and by the change of his hair Patton knew exactly why.

Stalling no longer, Patton pushed the button to open the door, and walked in. Virgil looked up in paranoid fear when he heard the door open, but his eyes softened with something close to happiness when he saw who it as, before it quickly morphed back into fear and sadness.

“What are you doing here, Patton?” He questioned, turning his eyes down to the floor.

“It that how you greet your dad after so long, kiddo?” Patton teased lightly through gritted teeth, regretting it right after, the bittersweet tone evident in his voice. Virgil closer around himself at the implication, shrinking further into himself. Patton sighed and took a careful approach, gently setting himself down beside him. 

A stretched out moment of tense silence sat heavily between them as neither spoke a word or made the first step to break the thickening ice that chilled their tongues. By the way he twitched his nose and rubbed his hands together, just as he always did since he was child. Patton knew there was something Virgil wanted to tell him. He waited patiently for Virgil to put together his words together in his head, offering a small rub on his shoulder to give encouragement. However, the moment he laid a hand on his shoulder, Virgil flinched violently away, pressing himself against the glass of the tram’s window. Patton watched him in sorrow, and fury. Virgil started to be very guarded towards physical touch when he was fifteen, and it took him years to be able to trust in touch again. The fact that he had reverted back to his cautious state meant only one thing, and it filled Patton both with sorrow and fury.

“Sorry,” 

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not just that,” Virgil murmured, whipping his nose with his sleeve, “I didn’t visit you all this time on purpose. I knew you’d be at the station, so I avoided you.”

Patton didn’t say anything in reply, although he was admittedly hurt by his words, making him feel even guiltier would only make him feel worse, and acting like it wasn’t a big deal would be a lie. So he allowed him time and room to explain himself.

“If you couldn’t already tell by the everything about me, Damien picked me up again. He’s pretty pissed that you left since you and the boys were kept as leverage over me last time. If he sees you we’ll both be in trouble.”

“So I should just leave?” Patton questions, not at all pleased by the idea of leaving his son to suffer alone at the hands of that man, “Leave with me,  _ please _ . Even Damien can’t leave the slums; he’s a stacker too despite his influence.”

“That’s right, he has influence! It stretches much farther than you know. If I go with you he’ll be able to find me in a matter of days, and then your and the boys’ location will be revealed. I can’t risk your guys’ safety, not again.” 

Three years had passed since the incident and Virgil had yet to forgive himself for what he had caused, despite all the time Patton had told him he didn’t hold him against it. For a large period of time after Virgil hadn’t been able to look at him because all he’d see were the wounds he had indirectly inflicted. Patton subconsciously rubbed a hand over his shirt where the scars rested beneath his shirt. There were white and faded now, no longer causing pain when he moved, but the memory was still there. He wanted so badly to take Virgil out of his situation and protect him, but he knew who they were dealing with, and what he was capable of.

“Will I see you again?”

Virgil frowned sadly, “I don’t know.”

The dad nodded lowly, understanding that this may be the last time he could see his son. Reaching his arms out, he gingerly pulled his eldest son into his arm, holding him close, but loosely in order to not suffocate and frighten him. Virgil reciprocated and nuzzled his forehead into his chest, wrapping his arms around Patton’s shoulders. Patton gently rocked him back and forth, telling him of his new life and his little brothers as he was asked, speaking sweetly to him as he used to when he was still young.

The sat there like that for as long as he could until they arrived at the final stop in district twelve. Virgil didn’t want to leave him, and Patton didn’t want him to either, but they both knew there was no other choice in the matter. Before he left however, Patton pulled out the blanket from his side pack and handed it to Virgil, telling him that he had planned to give it to him when he visited anyways. Virgil took it with a smile and a thank you, and with one last hug, they split ways. Patton watched as Virgil disappeared into the distance until the tram moved backwards and made its way back to the city center. Patton watched the scenery from the window, unmoving, barely registering the peaking of dawn on the horizon.

His son was a complicated fellow, who preferred to put the safety of his loved ones before his own. Patton chuckled at the memory of how selfish he used to be as a boy. Hogging all the bread and keeping his own stash that he would be allowed to take out of by the orders of a twelve year old. Since then he’s grown so much, Patton almost wishes he had stayed selfish. That way he wouldn’t have sacrificed his life and instead would’ve saved his own skin. Then they’d still be together now. Still, no matter what he does, what happens to him, or what he becomes, he will always hold Virgil dear to his heart. Patton had always wanted a family of his very own since he lost his, but due to a lack of attraction to anyone he wasn’t able to have one. Virgil was the answer to his long lived prayer to have a child, and he’d forever love him as his own.

 

…

 

Virgil walked away from the tram, away from Patton, without looking back; because he knew he’d run and go with him if he did. So instead he let his last glimmering chance disintegrate behind him, telling himself that it was better this way. This way his dad and brothers would be safe, from both Damien’s wrath, and from what he has become. How could he possibly go back to his family when he was the one responsible for the terror in the city?

The news reporters have seemed to let up on the stories about him in the papers, the media moving on to other things that would draw in the reader's attention. Even so, that didn’t change his actions or the consequences of them. Virgil didn’t really care about the people he was stealing from, or what the items meant to them. They could go choke on one of their many gold bars for all he cared, what mattered to him was Patton’s image of him. If the truth of his crimes came to light to the sweet man he thought of as a dad and best friend, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not like he does anyways. Patton was too kind and innocent; the stains that covered his filthy hands would surely taint him and his young brothers. He, someone who found joy in stealing and pleasure in ruining the lives of the high-end, was evil right? He didn’t deserve their love or affection, he wasn’t worthy of being a passing thought in their heads.

So he returned to where he belonged, back with the rats that society so detested. But when comparing basic human decency, if they were all rats, then everyone else were nothing more than bothersome flees acting as a plague upon them. Virgil would readily taken on any role society desires to label them with if it meant he could strike them with fear, and make them know what it feels like to have to constantly look over your shoulder.

Daybreak had struck by the time Virgil made it to the edge of the Stacks. His feet were dulled to the pain of walking long distances each day for so many years. The first time he ever made the near fifty minute walk to the tram station had practically killed his feeble legs, now he felt nothing. A few folks were up and out of their homes—those who were designated to clean up the bodies from each night were always the first out. Virgil walked past them, scanning them as they laid a cloth over a young woman who looked blue as ice, buried in the snow. Her family were awakened and followed the sweepers, as they called them, out to give her a small ceremony at the burning grounds to honor her memory before they sent her off to the After World, where she’d surely find the peace she was lacking here.

He wasn’t due to check in for another hour, so Virgil turned to his own crate instead and scaled the stack up to the top. Virgil groaned as he fell onto his flimsy mattress, kicking off his boots and shimming out of his belt and other garments. He didn’t bother to put on any clothes for a while, in spite of the cold air that nipped at his skin. He laid there bare for no one but himself to see. A broken mirror leaned against the wall to his left, shattered by all the times he had punched his own reflection, yet he could still make out his figure despite his attempts to not see himself. Virgil shifted his head towards the mirror, ten hims looked back. The soot under his eyes had been wiped away, revealing his horrible bags. He’d have to apply some more later.

A large bruise rested on his collar bone, two identical bruises covering each shoulder. Virgil didn’t look further down his reflection, already knowing and hating what he’d see. He was just as stained on the surface as he was in his soul, dirty and worthless. Impure in every single aspect of himself.

However, Virgil couldn’t help but notice the new injury on the right side of his stomach, still in the process of forming. It looked slightly different from the rest, although it hurt just the same. The memory of how he acquired it flowed back into his mind, strangely making him chuckle.

The skirmish where he had gotten injured was not in itself so funny, in fact it had been quite jarring, but the cop’s reaction to his reaction was priceless.

 

The old man, who really only looked to be a few years older than him, and managed to chase him onto a roof this time regardless of his obvious inexperience with doing so. Virgil maybe would have even felt a little bit sorry for him as he stumbled around the top of the building if it was for the constant insults and declarations he continuously spewed. In the end he couldn’t put up with his idiocy and decided to choose the easy way out by hopping on over to the roof beside them. He made the leap flawlessly, of course, and landed in an easy tumble. Virgil looked back and smirked at the man’s dropped jaw, shooting him finger guns and started bolting for the next roof.

In spite of his clear upmanship to show the cop that he couldn’t match his level of agility in this element, the older man attempted to make the difficult jump as well. Virgil peeked over his shoulder just as he made the run, slowing to a stop once he realized he was trying to copy him. And an attempt it was, because he fell. As if he were watching it happen right in front of him in slow motion, Virgil saw the moment he made a misstep, bending too low in the wrong position, failing him forward short of the roof’s ledge. Not knowing what came over him, the second he saw the mistake in his formation he shot forward to stop him and slammed his side into the ledge of the building, reaching out as he jumped, and managed to just scarcely grab onto his wrist before he could plummet eight stories down onto hard concrete. Virgil winced at the pain that jolted up through his shoulder at the strain. The cop gasped in shock at being caught, or perhaps at almost falling one hundred feet to his death. Grasping his wrist with his other hand as well, Virgil pulled him up onto the roof with a loud grunt of stress. Once he was up the two of them fell down on their backs in exhaustion and relief.

“You saved me!” The man said in surprised huffs.

“One time deal,” Virgil breathed out, “Next time I’ll drop you in a dumpster.”

The officer chuckled lightly, “How criminal of you,”

Virgil inwardly flinched at his words, but showed no indication on the outside and simply rolled his eyes. Pushing himself back up he sat lazily as he tried to catch his breath. The officer watched him move carefully, reaching towards the gun on his waist in case he tried anything, but let his arm go lax when he decided the crook wasn’t going to attack him.

“Hey,” Virgil spoke up nonchalantly, as if the guy beside him wasn’t totally trying to arrest him and throw him in prison, “I know we have this whole chase thing going one, but could we take a second to just rest? I’m pretty sure you pulled my shoulder from its socket.” 

The police officer looked at him curiously for a moment, analyzing him for signs of foul play. Virgil held his hands in the air, as if to show that he had no tricks up his sleeves. After several heartbeats passed, the cop sighed and sat up as well.

“I’ll give you a ten second head start.” He offered,

“Ha, you’ll need a lot less than that if you wanna catch up with me old man, with your feeble legs-”

“Roman.”

“-you’ll probably collapse after, wait, what?” Virgil stalled, looking to his side in shock by the officer’s sudden interruption. The other looked to him as well and offered a small grin.

“My name’s Roman and I’m not that old,  _ kid _ .” 

Virgil pouted at the jest towards his youthful appearance, and hissed “Well you look fifty,” as he stood to his feet and walked towards the fire escape on the other side of the building. The officer- Roman, feigned offence at the snide comment and stood as well to follow him down to the street below. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” 

“Ten seconds, old man.” Just as he had promised, he let Virgil run freely for ten seconds before he pursued.

 

Virgil smiled a little at the memory, a breathy laugh puffed from his nose. The violent game of tag between them had been going on for about three weeks. Although he knew the real life consequences of losing, at this point it had almost turned into a petty game of sorts. It was repetitive, Virgil steals, Roman traps him, they fight a bit, and then he escapes. They would banter as they fought, jabbing fun at each other as they traded in hits, but it was all the same nonetheless. This occurrence had been a break in that cycle, as if a new step had been included to the game.

His smile gradually turned into a frown. Virgil wasn’t so sure he liked that. No matter how Roman- the police officer, treats him, or if he accidentally saves his skin again, he’s still one of _ them _ . A high-ender, someone of background and privilege who hates his kind. He only offered a chuckle and a grin because Virgil saved his ass. If he hadn’t he’d still be the same, he still  _ is _ the same. A prick that couldn’t see beyond his own shining radiance of self-acclaimed importance, blinded by his convoluted, selfish egotism, uncaring of the death that dwelled here. He was an enforcer, keeping him and his people down and condemning them, trying to lock him up and send him away forever. He’d be damned if he ever thought differently.

Virgil should have let him fall, next time he  _ will _ let him fall, without a glance and without remorse, just as he’s supposed to. As society expected him to.

And that’s the reason why Virgil isn’t deserving of Patton’s love. ‘Fore he really is evil isn’t he?

 

…

 

The tram began to decelerate as it pulled into the station, a large creak sounding on the point of arrival. Swarm of people waited on the safe side of the white line for the doors to open and the train’s current occupants to get off so they could board. Patton lifted himself from his seat once they came to a stop, slid his pack onto his shoulder, and left, apologizing whenever someone bumped into him.

Daybreak was already here and time was running short. If he wanted his story to be believable he’d have to make a speedy run to the market and hurry back to the manor. Thankfully Patton had been keeping check of what he was getting low on—eggs, cream, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Although none of those ingredients were meant to be put all into one meal, Ahmed surly wouldn’t know that and wouldn’t catch on to the ploy.

The markets in the city were nothing like he had ever seen, because they were all in massive store buildings, unlike the street markets that were common in the Stacks. Granted this made finding what he needed a million times easier, it came a little bit as a disappointment to discover that there was no bargaining in those stores, the prices on the tags were the final cost, there was no negotiation for a cheaper deal. That did make the short stop even shorter though. A quick snag of everything in his mental list, and a few extra foods as well, and Patton was jetting off through the streets to the high-end residential area where he served, and stayed.

Ahmed was waiting by the gate when he arrived, anticipating his promise of a quick return, and checked him in, searching through his bags to make sure he had brought anything potentially dangerous back. Once he was in the clear, Ahmed escorted him back to the servant entrance into the kitchens. Patton got started right away on breakfast, choosing a quick meal since he didn’t have as much time as he usual did. 

The staff was already bustling by the time he got started, working on whatever quick snack they could fix up in his absence. He felt guilty for it and promised to make it up to them later. In his rushed cooking craze Patton had managed to burn his hands two times while making the eggs and bacon, but simply ran them under cold water and pushed through in order to deliver on time. This wasn’t the first he had gotten burned. 

The meal was admittedly not his best. Buttercream scrambled eggs with cilantro, green onions and a side of crispy bacon; but it was the best he could on such a short notice. Not bothering with the cart today, Patton used all of his past experience to channel in his inner waiter, and carry the large platter of food; kettle of coffee and a mug for which to drink; and a basket of bread, neatly balanced on his head, into the dining hall. As he approached the door, about to push the door open with the toe of his brown shoe, he heard the young voices of his two sons conversing inside. Curiously he peeked in and noticed that his two boys were talking with the senator, apparently about something academic as he knew absolutely nothing about what he was saying.

“Okay, so you’ve lined up the numbers correctly. Now you take the top number and multiply it by the number underneath and write it under the line. Then you do the same to the number besides that and you get…”

“Fifty-six!” Thomas finished in an excited cheer. Logan smiles at his accomplishment.

“That’s correct,” He then noticed Patton walking towards the table, “and it looks like your father is here.”

“Morning kiddos, whatcha doing up so early?” Indeed, they usually didn’t wake up until eight, and it was currently seven at the moment.

“You weren’t with us when we woke up!” Thomas exclaimed, a childishly accusing pout on his face.

“So we seeked out the Mr. Senator.” Emile finished.

Patton listened as he set the table, noticing he intrigued look his boss gave him at the boys’ view of what happened that morning.

“I’m sorry kiddos, but daddy had to run a few errands this morning.”

“But you usually wake us up for those.” Thomas complained, but was nudged in the side by his brother, who seemed to have a better understanding of the situation. Thomas grumbled to himself and crossed his arms, but quieted down. 

Patton just laughed, trying to play it off as if it were normal kid banter and didn’t actually pertain to any hidden meaning. Logan raised his brows at him inquisitively, but didn’t speak on the subject. Realizing that he was ready to eat his meal, Patton gathered his sons together and began to usher them out, telling them that ‘Mr. Senator’ must eat in peace, but the interjection of Logan's voice from the table stopped him halfway through the door.

“Actually, I would like to have a word. Could you spare a moment?”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he gave a short nod in confirmation. Shooing his children away to go get dressed for school, Patton tiptoed over to the long, oval table. Logan waited for him to sit down and get himself situated before he spoke, taking slow bites as he did so.

“Ahmed told me you went shopping this morning.”

“Uh, yeah I did. The pantry was low on eggs and the such.”

Logan hummed with a nod; closing his eyes thoughtfully and opening them back up with a striking, piercing, gaze. 

“What information did you gather?” He asked forwardly, holding up a hand to stop Patton from fumbling after an excuse, “It’s alright, Mr. Sanders. I’m the one who asked you to do it. It isn’t necessary for you to sneak out or around. Next time simply tell Ahmed that I asked you to run a personal errand, and I’ll confirm it with him later.”

Relief came at his unexpected response and all of the air trapped his lungs escaped in a solid exhale. Patton was surprised by how perceptive and observant Logan was of him, he’d have to be more careful with what he said and did.

“So, what did you find?” The senator inquired, leaning back into his hair, resting his chin on his left palm. 

Patton gulped dryly, unsure what was appropriate to say now and what would make sense as information he would seek for him. When he walked into an arrangement with his boss to help him figure out a conspiracy or something surrounding the Stacks, he had agreed in the hopes that he could steer him in a direction of change to benefit the stackers, he just didn’t know exactly how to do it. The memory of his two boys playing the war game that started all of this came into his mind as the perfect answer. Patton had heard all the stories of the massacre, as it had become a warning to all of them as to why they couldn’t fight back, the lesson learnt was why they were safe.  He’d only need to tweak one little detail to not give away his background.

“My neighbor’s sister had been sent to the Stacks when they were teenagers.” A little white lie, in truth both of them were sent there, but the story still held the same emotional effect. “As it was told, around forty years ago, the first of stackers had become tired of their suffering, and a woman named Alina Shelly spoke openly in the Stacks, raising crowds, encouraging them to march from city to city, province to province, and unify all of the Stacks across the nation to demand freedom and equal treatment. However, she and her followers never made it past the ninth district, as the provincial militia charged against them, slaughtering them in massive numbers. Alina and her followers tired to fight back, using weapons constructed from metal scraps and wood, but they had no hope of ever standing a chance. The slaughter lasted less than a week before the militia marched into their homes, toppled stacks, burned shacks and huts, and killed anyone who tried to fight back. In the end, Alina was held up in front of everyone and made an example of, shot and killed for all to see, including her sister, who was involved in the fighting as well.”

An extended length of silence dwelled between them, the morning now heavy at the depressive weight of his words. Logan was absolutely horrified when he learned this, his reaction displayed all over his normally stoic face; much like Patton when he first heard the epic as a boy. As soon as the man of higher status and living, but not higher in thought of self, came to terms with what he just learned, he thanked Patton for telling him, got up from his seat and stood beside him, resting an awkward, but gentle, hand on his shoulder.

“This is true?” He asked, still hopeful that these horrors hadn’t come to pass only to be covered up and denied by the system he had served and upheld.

“According to Aliya.” And the thousands still dying there.

Logan dipped his head, letting his hand fall away from Patton’s shoulder, laying it limply at his side. The silence held out for a while more. Patton looked to the man with empathy, after all, this must be very appalling to someone who hadn’t who had never known a suffering such as this even existed. 

“Thank you,” He repeated himself, his voice in a murmur, “I needed to hear this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can y'all figure out the message behind his dream?
> 
> I'm sorry for the late upload, and it's alright quality, I've been busy with applying to college, school work, and other stuff like that. I'm now in my school play and it takes up so much time! I'll try my best, but if I miss an update again it will only be one to three days late, but I'll try to stay on schedule.   
> Thank y'all for your kind comments and words, they make me so happy <3 Love y'all, see ya in the next chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gun violence, molestation(?) Skip last paragraph

~~~~

Dark was the night in its late hours, cold and empty with the winter presence looming over the landscape. The only light came from the fading electronic lanterns on the walls, no moonlight was allowed access into the halls through the thick curtains. The sound of silence was disturbed only minimally by the low snoring muffled by heavy doors and the light pitter patter of footsteps on the marble flooring. Patton was the only one awake, save for Ahmed who had a rotational sleeping schedule, unable to sleep in unease for what would visit him in his dreams. Even though two whole days had gone by since that unnerving dream visited him, Patton was still nervous to dream again, not wanting to see anything like that again. His primary choice would be to go out to the garden to ease his thoughts, but it was below freezing temperature at the moment. Instead he decided to go to the sitting room to read, bringing with him one of the few books he had checked out from the public library.

Getting a library card had been an incredibly stressful experience because he had been sure that then and then he’d be asked for his identification and social security and be called out for having falsified information. However the process had been much simpler, as they only asked for his full name and address, and that was it. Patton was in fact listed under the Winchester household as a resident, so when it came up on the computer no other questions were asked and he felt like he could breathe again. He also thought about getting a membership card to the local shopping market to save money, which blew his mind that that was possible, but he wasn’t sure if the process was the same and was hesitant to try. Either way he now had free access to as many books as he wanted, and even though his literacy was far from perfect, he still enjoyed reading to learn all the things he never could in the Stacks.

As he approached the door to the sitting room he noticed a light peeking out from under the door, meaning someone inside had switched it on. Curious how electricity worked, although he had been around it plenty throughout his numerous jobs over the years, it still mystified him. Patton didn’t think too much about it, deciding that Ahmed was probably inside to conduct his nightly search for intruders.

Apparently the manor’s body guard had always been stingy about properly conducting his job; priding himself on the careful protection he had offered the Winchester Family for over twenty years. Jamie once said that Ahmed had saved Mr. Winchester, Logan’s father, from a bullet by stepping in the way, and ended up being hospitalized for several weeks after. It is strange how Ahmed seemed to care for the family, but he and Logan never stayed close to each other.

Not concerned for who was behind the door, Patton pushed the door open and stepped in; sliding the door closed behind him once he entered. The thump of the pages of a book closing sounded off from the opposite corner of the room, causing him to twitch at the unexpected greeting although he knew someone was in there as well. He turned his attention in the direction of the noise dragging his eyes up the refined figure of the senator resting gracefully in his armchair, his body dressed in deep blue, silk sleeping wear with a black robe as a cover. He watched Patton over the top of his glasses, setting the large book that had been in his hands on his lap.

“Good morning, Mr. Sanders.” Logan welcomed,

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that you were awake so early.” He apologized with wide eyes, backing away closer towards the bookshelf.

“It’s either very early or very late depending on how you look at it.” 

“I… suppose,” Patton mumbled, awkwardly rocking backwards and forwards on his feet with a little sway in his hips, unsure if he should stay or go, “I could leave if you’d like.”

“It’s quite alright. I don’t entirely mind having company.” He gestured towards the seat next to him, offering Patton to join him. Patton stood in his place for another moment until he followed after and sat down in the seat beside him, scooping the back of his cotton, sky-blue nightshirt as he did, only feeling even more out of place. Logan opened his book and went on to read as if this was a regular occurrence. Patton licked his dry lips and opened his own book as well, sliding his glasses off and placing them on the lamp table that stood in the middle of their chairs. Logan noticed this curiously.

“You took your glasses off to read?” Logan commented in question.

“Huh?” Patton’s voice cracked, “Oh yeah! I can see things that are close, so I don’t really need these to read.”

“So you’re nearsighted.”

“I guess?”

Patton didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded correct coming from the other’s mouth so he agreed. Logan went back to reading, Patton as well. At first it wasn’t easy for him to ease, the title of the man next to him, and the power that came with it, made him feel as if he had to act up to a better image of himself. Sit up straighter, shoulders back cross his feet and point his toes, look advanced in his reading; keep an intelligent appearance. It was straining and he soon found that he was paying more attention to how he was sitting that to what he wanted to learn.

Since he checked out those books he had found many different ideologies and theories that their thinkers believed would create a utopia, which he had to look up in a dictionary to understand what they wanted, and he always found that no matter how impressive their ideas appeared on paper, a singular issue came about in every attempt to utilize them in real world scenarios: Human nature. No matter how promising the theory, the desires, tendencies, and circumstances of people never allowed them to succeed. Some economic ideologies worked better than others, but they were still flawed. Patton hoped to find a combination that would best work in the stackers’ favor.

In the beginning of his search he had first thought that all problems would be solved if the stackers were simply given citizenship and allowed to work and live just as everyone else, no matter if that meant as a banker or a farmer. However, he learned that such a large influx of a new population introduced into the job market would still leave many out of work. In fact, since most all stackers are willing to do a whole day’s work for a single bronze piece, many of the certified working citizens would be put out of work since larger companies try in any way they can to spend the least possible on their employees. While the majority of stackers would actually love to see the city workers put into their position of poverty, Patton didn’t want them to go through that kind of suffering, no one ever should. Perhaps if the government gained power of the businesses to regulate the wages then- but that would go against the current ideology to let business run itself. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t change the entire nation’s ideas on how to run the economy. He’d need to-

“What are you reading?” Logan asked him unexpectedly, forcibly yanking him from his deeply concentrated state, “You’ve been staring intensely at that page for about five minutes now.”

He hadn’t even realized him doing so. The page of the new chapter yet left unturned, although he had the page in between his fingers in preparation to do so. In spite of that, Patton did notice that he had completely let his posture fall, his back slouching and his legs criss-crossed on the chair. Patton turned a little pink and corrected himself.

“Just some economic stuff.” Patton shrugged, not know how the other would react to him studying something he had no business in, what with him simply being a chef and all. He also didn’t want to draw any suspicion to the ideas he had been planning and planting.  

“Economics?” Logan echoed, “What is with the interest?” 

“Ah, well I- um, I just find it kinda interesting you know?”

“Yes I suppose,” He hummed, “Although I’m a little surprised that you find interest on such a subject.”

Patton recoiled back at his words as if they were a sting at his person. Logan also appeared to realize how he had sounded, his blank face converging into one of regret. 

“Oh,” The lower-class chef mumbled,

“Not in a bad sense, I mean, only that I didn’t peg you as the type for that material.” He hastily followed up in a lacking explanation, “Forgive me, I came off rudely.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. I was brash and offended you please forgive me for that.”

Patton shifted his legs a bit, not used to having someone apologize for what they said or did to him. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome though, it felt different and nice to have someone care about how he felt.

“Alright.” Patton smiled shortly, “I forgive you.”

Logan breathed out a grateful sigh in relief, offering him a small nod and smile, Patton offered a strained one in return. The two stared at each other for another beat after that in a peculiar silence unlike the one previous, the atmosphere having had shifted during their conversation to something entirely different that neither of them could adequately name. He took that moment to look over his profile. A sharp-cutted jaw with defined cheekbones, coal black eyes, with bags and stress marks that demonstrated his busy and hectic lifestyle. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t ever had the chance to get a good look at his boss, it’s just that he only ever saw him when he was cleaned up, pristine, and perfectly focused. Presently, the man was caught in his pajamas, his skin unwashed and his hair disheveled, and looking dazed. Patton found that he thought this part of him as endearing since it was so rarely seen.

Overall he looked like he was in desperate need of a good, undisturbed sleep. Patton knew the basic outline of his schedule, he had to in order to properly serve him, and Logan was due to go to work four hours from now. There was no possible way he could manage through the day on so little rest, and as his personal chef, Patton saw it fit to make sure he was taken care of.

By then Logan had already turned his attention away and back to his book. As he was about to turn a page, the senator let out a small yawn, giving him prompt into the new segue.

“It’s getting late, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Are you suggesting that I’m not properly taking care of myself?”

“Don’t be silly, I’m just saying that you sound tired,” Logan yawned again, “See! You agree with me.”

“Well then by that logic shouldn’t you be in bed as well?”

“You got me there.” He chuckled, “Well then how about I whip us up some tea and we can go to bed together.”

“Excuse me?” Logan spluttered in bewilderment. 

A pause stepped in as he processed the underlying suggestion of his words which had definitely not intended. Patton quickly flushed a shade of pink he didn’t know was possible.

“Not like  _ that _ ,” Patton shyly quipped despite himself, hiding his face behind his hands and snuck a peek between his fingers, “So...?”

An answer was not provided right away, as Logan instead retreated into himself to mull it over, tapping his chin with a finger and running his hand through his dark locks. Somehow this managed to make him look a little younger by at least a couple year, although Patton didn’t know his exact age. He looked to be around thirty usually, but right now he looked as if he were in his early twenties. He finally appeared more relaxed.

“Fine then, I shall take you up on your offer.” The Senator confirmed, a prepared grin on his face, light but easy. 

Patton got up and directed him to wait where he was for a moment while he went into the kitchen to prepare some tea to help them sleep. Logan said nothing and sat patiently as he got up from his chair and left for the door and headed for the kitchen. The house was still just as dark as it was when he first walked down only a short while ago, but somehow it didn’t feel as dreary as it always did, as if the mansion itself was in a good mood. Patton could hear the light footsteps from the top floor of Ahmed patrolling, he’d have to let him know he’s up later so he wouldn’t be tackled again like that time in the garden. 

Speaking of, the three flowers in his room were alive and well, protected from the harsh cold. Patton still couldn’t believe Logan let him take the flowers. He was clearly annoyed at first, but yet he allowed him to take whatever flowers he wish, even allowing him to take more. His room was currently covered in a dozen or so flowers from the garden, and in good time, because all the flowers outside were already dead. 

Only one light was turned on in the kitchen, the small bulb over the stove glowed a warm orange as usual. Patton moved swiftly to the cabinet and pulled out a box of chamomile leaves and set them on the counter, crushing them in a small bowl to shorten their size. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, poured in the leaves, and then set it ablaze. A sliced lemon, two cup of tea, and a bit of warm milk later, the drinks were done. Setting them on a platter he carried one nice, porcelain tea cup, and one wooden cup to the sitting room for them to enjoy, a few biscuits added to the platter as well. Ahmed passed by him with a silent, unreadable look, not questioning the reason for the two cups or treats.

The manor’s security had always been of the quiet kind, but Patton suspected that that wasn’t all there was to him. Ahmed was watching him closely, analyzing his every move; he’d have to be careful to not raise suspicion.

…

For the first time in weeks no one was there to pester Virgil as he broken in and left some millionaire's house, oddly enough. You’d think being so rich that the dude would invest in better security. Even so, he was able to sneak in, steal some priceless jewels and trinkets, and then sneak out without a hitch. It felt almost foreign at that point, unnatural. Roman should have arrived with some grand declaration a while ago, leading to a chase, banter, and his narrow escape.

Yet, he was nowhere to be seen.

The thief didn’t think about it for too long, deciding to take it as a blessing and be on his way. Perhaps this time he’d be able to actually get some sleep in before the sun rises. 

Leaping from building to building, rooftop to rooftop, using adrenaline to keep him from looking down or hesitating, Virgil pierced his way through the city, the wind pushing on his back and propelling him forward. He stood well over one hundred feet above the ground. A fall from here could easily kill him. He kept that in mind as a way to turn his anxiety into a tool to keep him running, choosing both fight and flight to stay alive. The city scrapers were all lit up like candles, dazzling so numerous like stars that had touched earth. If it wasn’t for the people who lived here he might have found it beautiful.

Each light represented an oppressor, someone who thought themselves better than him and his people because they were born into grandeur. Virgil longed for the day their world was broken and shattered. In a little over a year the next choosing would take place and another percentage of the population would discretely be placed in the Stacks under the guise that they were all offered work in another province. Their records and lives would be deleted from all databases and they’d officially lose their citizenship. It was random and without remorse, the young and the old, entire families would be uprooted in order to not draw suspicion from a spouse whose partner suddenly left. Virgil can only vividly remember the last choosing when he was eleven. Suddenly thousands of people were placed in, confused and upset, demanding for proper food and shelter and luxuries everyone else never knew or hadn’t known in decades. The government police stood at the entrance to stop anyone from leaving, killing those who got physical, until the newly introduced stackers finally realized they were trapped. For the first few months they were, and always are, demanding, thinking themselves above that way of life. Virgil repeatedly had his bread stolen from someone who was experiencing hunger for the first time, had his box home taken from someone who had never known discomfort. In desperation he did the same, meeting Patton in return. After the first year the new stackers gave up their fight and renounced their old lives, becoming fully fledged stackers.

Coincidentally this timing matched up almost perfectly with the stackers’ only annual holiday, The Day of Purple Blood. It is a celebration of whatever was held dear, whether it be a worn pair of shoes, one good meal someone had during the year, or just managing to live to see the celebration. A large bonfire was set in the center of the Stacks, with plenty of dancing and as much smuggled alcohol and food as they could get their hands on. In their little corner of hell, it was the one day of the year where they felt a glimmer of joy, because they weren’t alone. They found family in a place no one could have possibly desired, but it was family no less.

Virgil used to celebrate with Patton and the boys, eating fried sweet dough and dancing in circles with them, but this year he’d be alone with nothing to celebrate. Perhaps he could celebrate all of the fear he had stuck upon the city, knowing that his suffering was able to reach them. He had nothing else, no family, no friends, and no joy. So he’d celebrate the damnation brought to the city by his own hands.

When the time came he planned to steal the fattest helping of bread he could to serve to everyone, maybe even give a little extra to the newly introduced to welcome them into reality.

A sudden footfall from behind broke though his heavy thoughts, warning Virgil that he wasn’t alone. No time was allowed for him to turn around before a gunshot sounded and a bullet fired at him at the speed of sound. Virgil didn’t know the exact location of whoever had made the shot, so he drove forward to the floor of the roof and rolled to the side, expecting another shot. Just as he suspected, another bullet came at him and penetrated the surface directly to the side of his face. It was then that he realized that whoever this was, Roman or someone else, they were deadly. He couldn’t get a good look at them without risking his face being blown off, and he definitely couldn’t risk fighting them head on. Virgil got to his feet and sprinted to the edge of the building, leaping off. 

A third bullet came, grazing his ear, and temporarily making him lose his focus and stumble. He fell, his feet missing the next building, gravity pulling him down hard and fast. His perfect balance of fight and flight fell away, the flight taking over. Maneuvering himself in midair, Virgil managed to scrape his boots against the side of the building and kick off, sending him towards the next building, which then slammed his back into an outdoor air conditioner. Before he fell again, Virgil caught a hand on the side of the electronic appliance, hanging weakly onto it as his only life line. He was still about fifty feet up with death on either side of him, one gravity and the other a psycho with a gun. Virgil looked around at his options, anything that he could land on or use to get down safely. Fifteen feet below him to his left was another air conditioner, smaller than the one he was currently holding onto. Next to that a window appeared to be left cracked open, he could look for rope or something to let him scale down the rest of the building. Swaying his body, he began to pick up momentum in his legs, swinging back and forth until he had enough to make the gap. He fell towards the small platform, getting closer with each second in the air. 

Then a bullet hit his shoulder, merely scraping his skin and the top of his backpack’s shoulder strap, but definitely drawing blood. He screamed out from the intense pain, losing focus once again as he flew past the air conditioner. Instead he was able to grip onto a windowsill one floor below. Virgil gritted his teeth and bit his lip, a heat stinging up his arm as his shoulder become dislocated from catching the weight of his body. Exhaustion started to creep up on him, his vision turning black and spotty.

“Fuck,” He cursed under his breath. 

His fingers began to lose their grip as he started to slip, Virgil tried to hold on with all he could, but he was much too tired now. He looked down at where he was to land, and noticed a dumpster across the small alley. With a loud grunt he brought his legs up and placed his feet against the brick wall, taking the last of his strength from his arm to his legs, and pushed off. He fell twenty feet straight down, barely making it into the heap of trash by a hair. His side and head still slammed into the dumpster, but the bags of filth took up most of the brute force, leaving only bruises and nothing broken.

No time could be wasted to catch a breath, the mysterious shooter could be on him in minutes, and there was no way he could take him on in this state. Grabbing hold of the rim of the dumpster, Virgil slowly pulled himself up and out of the trash. He stuck close to the alley walls, not venturing out into the main streets, and definitely not back onto the roofs. He needed cover to shade him from stray bullets and attacks.

His legs were sore and weak, but so was the rest of his body. The best he could do was limp at a snail’s pace to the nearest tram station. He kept his eyes attentive, looking over his shoulder every so often for any hidden figures crawling behind him until he made it safely the transportation station. The tram didn’t run continuously and wouldn’t be set to leave for a couple more hours, and in his state he’d draw only draw attention to himself.

In the station’s bathroom Virgil cleaned his wounds with soap and water, tearing apart his scarf with his knife and using the cloth as makeshift bandages to stop the bleeding. Once he was finished he made his way back outside, knowing it wasn’t smart to keeping himself trapped in a small space with only one entrance and exit. So until the tram was ready to go he climbed and rested on top of the tram, going in and out of sleep.

Nevertheless, the feeling of unease followed him, and Virgil never allowed himself to be vulnerable for too long. This attack had been a complete shock, and was so different from when Roman had first come after him. Back then he could tell right away that Roman’s sole purpose was simply to detain him, not to kill. This person, they aimed straight for his head with conviction. Whoever they were and whatever they were after, they were nothing like Roman. Entrances wouldn’t be predictable, and escape would no longer be so easy. 

The worst part is that they left a clear mark on his body. He had been too pumped on adrenaline to feel it before, but a part of his right ear had been blown off. Not enough that it would cause any permanent damage to his hearing, but just enough to make it noticeable. While he had been fighting Roman he had sustained only light bruises and scratches that he could easily hide; but these injuries were as clear as day. There was no way Damien would miss them, and that meant the truth would finally be forced into the light.

...

His book sat neglected on his the coffee table, long since abandoned while his thoughts overtook him. The calm rowdiness from before disappeared as soon as he was left alone, the atmosphere returning to the regular bleak void that followed him. It was as if all the color had been drained from his world, but that was okay, it was what he was used to. Stifling, strict, and unpleasant his life has been. Although he did in fact see the colors around him, it was all metaphorically reduced to a dull and dim hue.

Logan’s parents didn’t care for the vibrancy of life created by simple pleasures, they saw it as a distraction, so too was he raised on this thought. Simple pleasures had no purpose, all that mattered was the end product, the process and journey had nothing to offer other than more opportunities to add onto the destination. His life was a stale grey spectrum of a singular path, even after he broke away from his parents, he was still influenced by their words, and their ways still followed him.

Elise, Ahmed, even the more colorful Jamie, each of them are servants he’s been given from them. Every one of them ran his household based on what his parents would have wanted, and he let them. The curtains were always drawn, the doors closed, shutting him in his own little void. Logan never challenged it, never sought out change; after all it was efficient and logical.

That is until he hired the peculiar man that is Patton Sanders. His previous chef had to retire due to old age, which gave Logan his first and only chance to hire staff based on his own will. Patton was nowhere near what he had been looking for in a personal chef. The first dish he prepared when applying for the position was nothing special. It wasn’t expensive or elegant, completely opposite to what would be expected of a five star chef opening. Yet it was bright and happy, almost as if the meal itself was able to express the same emotion of the cook who made it.

After he took him on to his staff life had subtly changed. Not by much, but it was the little things he noticed. On mornings where he had previously eaten only the finest dishes with the richest coffee, only to leave most of it behind to head to work, now he had small simple meals made to support and strengthen a weak morning stomach throughout the day, something he could easily finish before he had to leave. Logan could tell when Patton attempted fancier meals, and although he’d never admit it, it was because there was no warmth in the food, as if a machine had produced it. 

Other things changed beyond just the food he ate. There was also the oddity he had noticed everyday as he came home from work since Patton had moved in. A window on the second floor always had its curtains drawn open with light peering in and out. To anyone else this wouldn’t be all that unusual, but for Logan, who had been living in that mansion for twenty-eight years, it had made an exponential difference. It reminded him that he was coming home to someone, not just ghosts of his past who only spoke to him of their duties. Not to mention the strangeness of having two small children running about in games and laughter.

If his parents were able to see the state of his manor they would surely scold him for it, but Logan found that he rather enjoyed it. All in all, much of his life was the same, but a new vibrancy had been introduced that gave him a newer outlook, only if it was just a few shades lighter.

A gentle knock on the door notified Logan that his chef was back with the tea he had promised.

“Come on in,” 

The door cracked open slowly and carefully, Patton propping it open with his back as he carried the teacups and what looked like biscuits on a large tray with his hands. He carried it over towards where they had been sitting, and where Logan was still seated, and laid out coasters to put the cups down on the small table between the two chairs, with a basket of biscuits set in the middle.

“I hope it’s still warm.” Patton said offhandedly as he served the late night snack, placing the tray away on the coffee table a few feet away next to his forgotten book. Logan reached out to pick up the teacup that had been placed next to him and gingerly took a sip in the case that it was still hot. It was made perfectly, as if created by divine hands.  

“Yes it is thank you.” He murmured gratefully through a soft sigh. Patton looked back at him with delighted surprise, like he didn’t expect receiving gratitude for such a simple thing. 

“You’re welcome.” 

They sat together for a while in peace, purely enjoying their beverages and treats. As time went Logan noticed his eyes become heavier, and his breathing slower. Whatever concoction his chef had cooked up, it certainly had made him all the more tired. A long yawn pushed past his lips, causing him to open his mouth an indecent length, which he hid behind the palm of his hand. Subsequently, his yawning caused the other to do the same. Logan looked over to his partner and noticed for the first time that they were drinking from different cups; Logan from one of his many fine china, and Patton from a plain wooden mug. 

“I am curious as to why you grabbed two separate cups for our tea.” He inquired, setting his, now empty, teacup down on its matching plate.

“Oh, well I figured you should get the nicer one since you are the boss.” Patton answered easily as if it was obvious, and perhaps it was to him.

“Nonsense, you needn’t separate your status from me in such a way. Next time we either drink from the same china or we don’t drink at all.” He instructed in an almost lecturing manner, though he couldn’t help it. Assuming that Patton was to be his one and only choice by his own liberty, he didn’t want him to have the same line of thinking as those chosen by his parents.

“Okay sir,”

“Please,” His face softened, “Call me Logan.”

...

For the first time in many months a night of peace had at last come to him where he wasn’t focused on work. It felt a little odd to not be out in the field, but he had importance business other than his position and that criminal to think about.

A quick overnight visit to his abuela’s house in the sixth district to check up on her and ease her repetitive phone calls after his health had been long overdue.

“¿Mijo? Despierta, el desayuno está preparado.” A stern, but kind, voice called from downstairs. Roman groaned and curled further into his blankets, shoving his head under his pillow. “¡Mijo!”

“Sí, sí abuelita. Estoy despierto.” He shouted back in a yawn, shoving his pillow off of his face he sat up in bed and removed the blankets, stretching out his arms and legs. 

The image of his surroundings came in slowly, his eyes still blurry from sleep, until finally he was able to recognize where he was. His old room back in his abuela’s home. It was small, almost like a closet, only able to fit a small bed, dresser, and miniature desk. The walls were covered with poster art of his favorite musicals and shows, an old reminiscent reminder of a time when he wanted to be an actor instead of an officer. 

Setting his feet on the cold wood floor Roman went to his overnight bag on top of his dresser and pulled out a pair of clothes to get dressed in, a simple long sleeve light-grey sweater and a pair of jeans. 

Continuing about his morning routine he went to the bathroom across the hall and brushed his teeth and hair and washed his face. Once he was ready and presentable, he went downstairs to greet his abuela.

“Buenos días abuelita.” He greeted as he pulled out a chair at the table.

“Buenos días mijo,” she greeted back, busying herself by setting the table with her delicious tostadas. “¿Cómo estás?”

“Normal,” He shrugged, pouring himself a cup of milk.

“¿Verdad? What happened honey?” She switched to English, most likely without noticing it.

“Just work, it’s been a bit hectic lately.” He responded placing the salt shaker is his abuela’s outstretched palm.

“Are those cabrónes giving you a hard time?” She asked, reaching for her sandal in a threatening manner. 

“No, no abuelita, I’m just a little tired.” Roman explained, shaking his hands in front of his face. His abuela was a spitfire of a woman, not concerned by anyone’s thoughts and opinions, and sure as hell not afraid to take on someone twice her size despite her old age. If she suddenly declared she was to be the new police chief, Roman wouldn’t doubt it for a second. 

“Hm,” she harrumphed, “You’re skinny too, here, eat some more tostadas.” 

He didn’t try to argue as his still-full plate became overflowing with breakfast food, and silently accepted that he’d have to eat the extra food. It was his abuela after all, when push comes to shove, she was the one he always turned to for help and advice, and a little extra breakfast was a small price in return.

The thought of the night he had nearly fallen to a near certain death last week, of him being caught by the man he has been chasing, slid into the back of his mind, but Roman pushed it away. That was the one thing Roman couldn’t talk to her about, he didn’t want to worry her or remind her of her only child, his mother, who has long since been dead.

~~~~  
  
  


After breakfast had been finished Roman received a frantic call from Talyn, asking him to stop by their office as soon as possible. They didn’t specify what the matter was so he moved as if it was life-threatening. He quickly packed his overnight bag and wrapped his arms around his abuela in goodbye, promising her that he’d give her a call later that week.

He threw his bag into the back seat and jumped into his car, pulling out of the driveway and headed for the freeway to get to the downtown precinct faster. On the way he gave his assistant Diana a call to let her know that something urgent suddenly came up and he’d be late getting in. Diana naturally chewed him out for pushing his work onto her again, but wished him luck with whatever he had to take care of.

Pulling up to the department building’s visitor parking, Roman left his car with the valet and ran to the precinct entrance, sloppily shoving his ID before the security to get through, bolting to the investigation sector where Talyn worked. He spotted his friend as he ran over, slowing to a jog as he came closer. 

“Talyn, what happe-”

“You idiot!” Talyn shouted at him, smacking him in the head with a magazine the second he reached them.

“Ow! What the hell Talyn?”

“That should be my question dumbass!”

“What the- ow, ow, ow!” He hissed in pain as he was pulled by the ear over to a more discrete part of the office area, away from curious ears and questioning eyes. “What is this about, Talyn?” 

“I lost my position over the ‘Upper-End Robbery’ case. The chief inspector grew tired of my lack of progress and handed it over to a transfer investigator. Which means you’ll be working alone and out of bounds from now on.” They explained harshly, obviously perplexed, and most certainly vexed, by the news that a case had been taken from them. Although it was understandable for Talyn to be pissed about it as they hadn’t left a case unsolved in years. “What happened, Roman? I gave you everything you needed and more to catch this guy, yet he’s still out there.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he hung his head, “This one’s just a bit tricky that’s all.”

“‘Tricky’? That’s a first. Be honest, what’s been going on?”

He opened his mouth to answer and closed it, and then opened it again, flapping his mouth as he tried to think of an explanation for himself, but came up empty. Talyn was right; there was no actual reason why he has yet to capture this thief. There had been numerous opportunities to do so. When the both fell out the window, Roman could have chased him when he had cut himself free. When they were stopped at the wall and talked, Roman could have stunned him with his stun gun. When the kid caught him from falling off the roof, Roman could have taken advantage of his shoulder injury and pinned him. Yet he hadn’t, he allowed the kid to get away from him each time, watching as he ran.

There was no logical reason for him to still be out on the streets, and there was no reason for Talyn to lose their position because of his… hesitance, if that’s what it was.

“I don’t know, but it won’t be like this anymore.”

“What won’t be like what anymore?” A new voice, one he’s never heard before, said from behind.

Quickly turning around in shock, Talyn peering over his shoulder, Roman saw a man who looked to be a few years older than him, the sides of his black hair slightly grayed from the stress of a long career, wearing a tight face. He held himself with a powerful regality similar to that of Roman, but with more command and less arrogance. Yet something in his eyes didn’t seem quite right.

The man brightened in recognition before his attention shifted behind Roman to Talyn, who stood their ground firmly, shooting him a narrowed stare.

“Detective.” He said curtly, looking down at them in disdain.

“Inspector.” They grated in return, staring up in contempt. 

“Detective, you didn’t tell me the Head of Security was paying our precinct a visit.”

“I didn’t know I had to.”

“Roman Sanchez,” He offered a hand, stepping further in between his friend and the stranger, noticing the clear bitterness that was swelling there.

“Yes, I know. I’m Inspector Calhoun. I was transferred in from Daffodil two cities over last week. I understand you worked here as an officer before becoming the Head. Investigation?”

“Homicide.” Roman cleared,

“Ah, a fine profession. I’ve my fair share of those.” Roman shivered at the underlying implications of those words, although he knew Calhoun wasn’t referring to his  _ own _ commitments. “I prefer to work with more present dangers, however, more thrill that way.”

“I know what you mean.” The former officer nodded, secretly hating the fact that his statement was true. 

“In fact with my latest case, which I so happened to take over for our little detective, I got to experience a run of exhilaration as I almost caught the perp this very morning. Two shots in, though I’m afraid that my aim did not land perfectly. Quite tricky this one is.”

A sudden dread flowed through Roman’s veins at his statement, his breath hitching at learning that the kid, whose name he has yet to learn, had been shot by this maniac in front of him. An urge to punch the guy in the face surfaced in his gut, but he forced it down. He couldn’t afford to show any sign of deeper understanding beyond what is granted to him as the Head of Security. None but Talyn knew of his involvement in the case, it is impervious that it be kept that way, especially now that they’ve been taken off of it.

“Those injuries will keep him away from crime for awhile if we are so lucky.” Roman commented steadying the shake in his voice until it was nonexistent. 

“Hm, perhaps,” Calhoun hummed thoughtfully, his disposition becoming guarded once again. He gave Roman an intrigued once over and glanced over to Talyn, gazing between them, as if he were peering through their intentions. “Well, I better head back to my duties. It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Sanchez.”

“Likewise,” Roman agreed, taking his palm in a quick handshake, gluing his eyes onto the man’s form as Calhoun walked away.

Fury burned inside him from their short lived conversation, all of the wrong buttons pushed, and his weak strings plucked. 

“Do you see now why I was upset  _ he _ was given the job?” Talyn spoke up from behind. Roman didn’t turn to face them, so he didn’t know what kind of face they were making, but he knew it wasn’t kind. Neither was his.

“Yeah I do, but,” 

Months of research, planning, action, and waiting had all lead up to the kid almost being swept up from under him by some creep with a gun. A gun had almost taken him down, not physical training or hand to hand combat like Roman had been relying on. Simple tricks were the trademark of a coward, but this one was deadly nonetheless. Deadly and foolish, to risk taking the life of the suspect before setting him up to trial, although he’d certainly be found guilty. Calhoun may have the title and power of an Inspector, but his mind was that of a deranged rookie sat upon the highest horse. The trouble was that he had the skills and knowledge to get the job done faster than Roman. This only meant he’d have to pick up his game to stay ahead.

“I’m not going to let him win.”

…

Damien was absolutely livid when he arrived with poorly bandaged wounds, precisely as he had predicted. Virgil was met with a sharp backhand once he walked up, heeding only an inch, and then sent up to Damien’s private room to be fixed. Another slave, named Zora if he remembered correctly, was summoned to properly tend to, clean, and bandage his wounds. His ear received several messy stitches to stop the bleeding, his head wrapped for both his ear and the small he cut he received when falling into that dumpster. His sides were heavily bruised so the girl wrapped some ice and snow from the street in a cloth for him to hold against his sides. His shoulder was cleaned with water, pure alcohol, and then bandaged tightly. 

The entire time he was treated Damien stood and kept watch from an armchair in the corner of the room, guarding him as if someone would appear with murderous intent any minute. Once she was done, Zora bowed and left the room, closing the door as she went. Virgil sat in place unmoving, waiting for Damien to make the first move. Damien continued to watch him for a while longer, studying him with his close gaze. After a while more he stood from his chair and stalked over, stopping just a hair away from his body.

“You aren’t allowed to work alone anymore. It’s obvious that you can’t handle yourself properly anymore.”

Virgil wanted to shout out a protest, but bit it back, knowing that no argument could be made against his decision. He hated the idea of having some scrub tag along with him as he went to work, monitoring his every move. The last area of free reign Virgil had over his life was being taken away too. If he was lucky his partner will be incompetent and he can simply ditch them. Even so, this meant that his nights would now be recorded and reported back to Damien, and Roman would no longer be his little secret. Then again, what did it matter if he was or not?

“I’ll also set in an order for a bullet proof vest.” Damien said, sitting down on the bed and shifting until he was directly behind Virgil. He set his chin down atop of his wounded shoulder, causing Virgil to hiss in pain, which only made him smile. “As long as you belong to me,” He purred, sliding his tongue over the stitches on his ear, “you aren’t allowed to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out so much later than I would've liked or planned, but life is freaking crazy at the moment. Anyway, I'm sorry and I'll try to be better next time.  
> This was the longest chapter so far, what do you think? I'm proud of it. Although I sometimes have trouble writing Virgil.  
> I love y'all so much, y'all are the sweetest. Thank you for all of your support and I'll see you in the next update!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of prostitution, violence and blood, PTSD and panic attacks, and physical abuse (skip from **The slap that sounded next** to **"Hey, he's awake now**)  
>  Legit why does all of these triggers have to do with Virgil?

Winter days were always warmer when the sun was out, even when silver clouds littered the sky, the heat made all the difference. Virgil, however, never really got to enjoy the relaxing daily heat as a break from the hellish cold nights, as his occupation required him to be up at late hours, leaving him time to sleep only during daylight hours. As a result, he was always cold and seeking out any warmth he could find like a cat.

Although for the past few days he was able to enjoy the slight warmth as he was put under house arrest, with Danni and Dillion set as guards at the bottom of his stack to make sure no one intrudes upon him, and to keep watch over his movements so he won’t try to sneak away. It had been two days since the sudden attack and he had spent most of it sleeping. Damien had set him up with new clothes to make up for the tattered garments that had been ruined with bullet holes. These ones came with skin tight heat insulation to keep him warm while he was at work, with a lightweight bullet proof vest. It was very clear that he meant to protect Virgil in any way he could. It made him sick.

His apparent soon to be partner in crime had yet to be revealed to him, and he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the Stacks until they were. He hated the idea of having to cooperate with someone, he worked at his best when he was alone, a partner would only slow him down. 

So the days went by slow, going in and out of sleep, droned and listless. Part of the time was spent at the foot of his stack visiting the three elderly ladies that he liked to keep company. Other times he’d be in the fifth crate up helping the single mother take care of her child, allowing her to obtain some much needed sleep. 

It was the third day of his house arrest and resting period, the wound on his shoulder had finally scabbed over and the bruises on his sides and head were starting to fade. His ear was another story. It felt strange to have a piece of his ear missing, and the pain was still hot and cumbersome. He had to change his bandages and clean his ear with boiling water from melted snow, since that was the fastest way to get water, regularly. Currently he sat with Dolores inside her crate, with Mary asleep on a pile of cardboard in the corner wrapped in a blanket, holding little nine month old Pearl in his arms while the lady unwrapped his bandages. Virgil winced lightly as the cold air hit his wound.

“The puss is back.” Dolores commented taking a hot rag from the pot and holding it against his ear, wiping the gunk away.

Virgil hummed, biting his lip to stop from groaning at the sting. He also didn’t want to risk waking up Pearl. Nevertheless, the little infant still shifted in her sleep.

“What are you gettin’ yourself into sweetheart?”

The question went unanswered but hung over their heads for the rest of the afternoon. Virgil pushed back the fearful thoughts that pestered him, knowing that if he thought too much in it he’d only slow down in self-preservation. Terror struck him at the idea of facing that gun manic again, whoever they were.

It had been awhile since he feared losing his life, he wondered what brought it back. Despite being in the worst place of his life, Virgil felt as if he had something to stay for. The possible chance of seeing Patton’s dream of living in a little home with a green yard and garden of his own. Witnessing his brothers grow up, graduate, and receive their diplomas in whatever they choose to study. Achieving his own dream of having his own clock shop and finally being able to wake up peacefully to the morning birds.

A fleeting image of Roman sitting next to him back on that roof passed through his mind. Virgil paused and grimaced at the thought.

It didn’t matter anyways. Simple ‘what-ifs’ couldn’t be the thing to stand in the way of his suffered-for work. Virgil wanted to make a statement to all the upper-city fucks, something that would really make them think. Clearly his thieving wasn’t cutting it. He needed something big and noticeable. He had to steal something everyone was familiar with, that they knew and love.

In the center of the city there were three landmarks that he had passed on multiple occasions, that everyone saw because of their distinctiveness. The Northfield skyscraper, the first skyscraper to be built on the East Coast, and at one point the tallest building in the world, although that record had been defeated almost half a century ago. The clocktower, which sat in the middle of the downtown park with a bell so loud it could be heard from two districts over. And finally, the Johnson Monument, a ten foot tall statue that sat in front of City Hall, built in honor of the province’s founder and first senator. The first would be the most difficult, as it was heavily guarded and too large to deface properly. The clocktower was a tad bit easier but also much too troublesome, although the idea of stealing the clock hand was interesting to him, perhaps he’d do that later.

No, Virgil knew exactly what he wanted— _ needed— _ to do.

Pearl shifted in his arms again and whined in her sleep, shivering in her thin blanket. Virgil set her down on his lap and shrugged off his jacket and wrapped her in it to warm her up. The little girl shifted again and made a small noise of content. Virgil smiled at her little form, endeared by how such a tiny and helpless thing could easily find happiness in something so simple and feeling warm.

Pearl’s mother, Hoa, had been sickly for the past few months since she was born. Virgil would often split the larger part of his payment and offerings with her to pay for medication and to feed Pearl. There was another family of seven in the stack across from his who he would also share a large portion with. He tried to be fair with what he handed out, but families often got priority over individuals. Maybe it was because he has a soft spot for them.

Now that his jacket was off, Dolores pulled down the neck of his shirt to clean his shoulder as well, which was still an angry red color. Not wanting to look at his wounds, Virgil turned his attention solely to Pearl, running his fingers through the fuzz on her head that was meant to be hair.

“Virgil, I know you got yo’ job, but don’t you think you should slow down? We folks here barely see you no more, and when we finally do you gone and been shot at! You’ve done more than enough for us here, shouldn’t you focus on yo’self?”

Virgil gave a bitter chuckle at that notion and bit down on his teeth. Dolores looked at him seriously with a directed glare, not at all joking about her words. He shook his head, looking to Pearl in his arms, and Mary across the room.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” He muttered, his tone somber and stirred in rage. The gifts of food, clothing, and other necessities would only ease temporary afflictions. If he were to ever stop then he’d be abandoning those around him. Virgil had ignored them during his three years of separation from Damien, too consumed with proving a point and freeing his family to care for the plenty of other suffering going on around him; but now that it was all lost, serving them was all he had. 

Dolores dropped her gaze and sighed, knowing she could not reason with someone as stubborn as him. Picking up the pot of warm water, cooled off from being taken away from the fire, she wobbled her way over to her life long friend and began to clean her, knowing that she was currently too weak and frail from hunger to do it herself. Dolores often worked tirelessly on her quilts, desperate to earn money to buy food. Virgil put himself and his house arrest at fault. If only he hadn’t been injured he could have brought back enough money to buy them enough bread to last them days.

The lives of those who could not take care of themselves rested on his shoulders. The voices of the muted relied on him to send their message to the rest of the world. Virgil couldn’t stop, not now, he had too much to do, and he would not rest until his people received the lives they rightfully deserved.

 

…

 

“Mr. Senator,” a disembodied voice spoke through his desktop phone speaker, “Mr. Sanders has arrived as you requested.”

Logan looked up from the document he was reading reached over to the commutator and pressed down on the button that would allow him to speak.

“Excellent, send him into my office.” He directed into the mic and let go of the button.

The recent amount of work over the week pressed hard on him and was tireless and nonstop. He didn’t even have enough time to eat a full three meals due to the labor. He had been returning back to the manor later as well, which meant that his chef also had to stay up late to deliver the meals he had been missing to him. However there was little that could be done to change it, the next Senatorial Summit was one month away and he had to make sure he could accomplish as much work as possible before he’d have to leave for sixty days, especially with boosting the market.

It was at times like these that Logan truly despised the system that set and decided how many government workers each province was allowed to have based on total population. While it made sense to create fairground in the Senate Hall and kept it free from possible tyranny among the senators, it was troubling when it came to smaller provinces such as Flor to conduct proper governing with such a small amount of overseeing officials. Such a small council as theirs was already inconvenient enough when trying to decide on and create policy, but the shorthand of officials and officers to carry out those policies was even worse.

Each province was given one senator and one deputy, all the other positions were decided based on population, which put Logan at a huge disadvantage whenever he tried to gain any real ground with the other senators.

The stress was starting to tire him out, and missing so many crucial meals was taking its toll on his body and ability to perform to his full capacity. That was the main reason why Logan requested that Patton come to his office twice a day to bring him his lunch and dinner.

A gentle hand knocked on his door before slowly pulling it open. Patton then poked half of his body in, looking around cautiously, a small box in his hand.

“Uhm, Sir, I have your lunch.” He announced with a quiver in his voice, looking unsure and out of place in a setting so unfamiliar to him as this. With that unkempt hair, askew glasses, and brightly-colored and baggy clothing of his he looked like a child that stumbled into their parent’s office for the first time. Logan almost laughed at how ridiculously the other stood out in his plain, grey office space. It must have been quite a sight for others to see on his way here. 

“Yes, and thank you for doing so.”

“Oh it was nothing, just following orders sir.” He laughed awkwardly closing the door behind him. Logan bit back a frown and maintained a neutral face. 

“Please, when it’s just the two of us, call me Logan.”

Patton met his eyes with his, and then looked away sheepishly. Changing the subject by handing his lunch over. Logan let out a sigh and took the meal from him. Patton hasn’t been regularly addressing him as he asked, usually he’d have to be reminded or else he’d just address him as “sir” instead of by his first name. Logan hoped he’d be different from everyone else, but the fear and intimidation that came with his last name and title was hard to escape. Everyone had always, and still do, put Logan on another level of existence apart from them without his asking. Patton’s two sons had been the only exception to that fact, he only wished that their father had been the same.

“Why don’t you take a seat? My hands are cramping from all the paperwork and I could use the company.”

“Oh, uh sure sir- I mean Logan!”

Logan nodded and opened the box he had been handed. It was filled with a peasant dish he had never seen before, although he recognized the sliced potatoes called french fries. It looked to be chunks of battered meat accompanied by small dishes of condiments.

“They’re chicken nuggets! It’s just breast meat rolled in breaded batter and baked. I hope that’s alright with you.”

“They look exquisite,” Logan interjected, “but where is the silverware?”

“Silver-? Oh, you don’t use utensils, you eat them by hand.”

“By hand? Absurd, that’s incredibly unhygienic and frankly improper.”

“Well that’s why you wash your hands before eating. You do wash your hands, right?” A smug grin grew on his face.

“Of course I do! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then it should be no problem.” 

Logan looked down at his food again, then at his hands with uncertainty. It was true that there wasn’t a speck of dirt on them, but using his hands as utensils still sounded filthy. Besides the nuggets looked slightly greasy, and he didn’t want to risk staining his documents with grease. However, one look at the grin Patton was giving him was enough to make him give in, against his better judgement.

“Fine then, but I’ll need a napkin.”

“Here,” Patton offered a cloth napkin from his coat pocket, “I figured you’d want it.”

The food had indeed been greasy, just as he expected, but not too much so; he did clear his work space before eating though. Patton sat across from him, nibbling on orange and apple slices and drinking milk. Despite his meal being so small and simple he wore a content smile as if it were the sweetest thing he’d ever eaten. Logan had noticed that that was a commonality when it came to the other. The simplest things, gestures or otherwise regular enjoyments, all came as a wonder in his eyes. It was hard to miss the gleam that twinkled in his eyes whenever he saw or did something that most anyone would consider a daily activity, such as loading the dishwasher or using the washing machine and dryer. Elise had come to him more than once with complaints on his behavior, yet these tales simply captivated his attention.

There was also another reason he made this request, and it steamed from his chef’s behavior. Logan worried that perhaps Patton hadn’t had the privilege of access to such devices before, and feared that many more in the lower districts still lived that way. A key part of his set goals he wanted to fulfill during his term was social equality, to accomplish that he’d have to start at the bottom where the most inequality existed. 

“So, Mr. Sanders, Patton if I may?” The freckled chef nodded his head timidly, giving the okay to the informal address, “Okay Patton,” that name sounded so fresh on his lips and gentle to say aloud, “Can you tell me more about life in the lower districts?”

 

…

 

Danni had barged in to the base crate just as Virgil had finished feeding baby Pearl some water, as she was dehydrated and he had no milk to offer her, and demanded that he follow her. The let out an exasperated breath, knowing that he was going to meet his new partner, and stood up from his seat on the ground. He bid farewell to Dolores and Mary and followed her outside, however before he followed her any further, he turned and climbed one handed up the stack. Danni yelled and cursed at him to get down, but he simple shouted back that he had to return Pearl to her mother first. 

Hoa was still asleep when he entered the wheel-less van she lived in five lodgements up from the ground, her breathing ragged and sickly. Virgil place a hand against her forehead, pulling it back quickly at how hot she was.

Hoa had been born in the stacks just like him and, although they didn’t grow up together, he knew her well enough to feel personal concern. Like him Hoa worked for Damien, but as a prostitute for his underlings. He had met her a few years back but was too focused on his own circumstances to pay any attention to her, only seeing her in the background every so often. Hoa had moved into this stack when her daughter was born, scared of what the father, a regular client, might do to her. Again Virgil ignored much of this, still to overwhelmed with his own life and trying to win that useless bet to offer any help. Now it was different. Being ripped away from his adoptive family had opened his eyes to those around him who he had been neglecting and ignoring. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he could have stopped Hoa from getting so ill. Nevertheless, he made it his duty and pledged himself to seeing her through her disease to make up for his mistakes.

Virgil placed Pearl in her little makeshift crib, a wooden box filled with scraps of cloth for padding, and ran his fingers through her little fuzz once more. Pearl bubbled at his touch and swiped her little hands in the air. Virgil chuckled at this and tucked her little arms under her blanket to protect her from the cold. Standing up straight he looked over to Hoa, sleeping on a wicker rug and curled up tightly in her quilt, shivering. He frowned at the sight and shrugged off his new coat and placed it over her, whispering a short “get well soon” before he left. 

He exited through the passenger door and carefully placed his foot on the rim of the footboard, using the door handle as a grip to hold onto as he carefully made his way down. A look over his shoulder told him that Danni was stalking his movements like a predator.

Violence was common in the Stacks, it had been that since before he was born, but fights were usually carried out with knives and crude weapons. Only top gang members and influencers had enough money to afford and maintain guns and ammunition, so the sound of gunfire wasn’t a daily occurrence. That wasn’t to say it never happened, only that it was rare. That’s why it came as a massive shock when the distinct crack and boom of a bullet being shot sounded and vibrated the air around him. He had never liked the sound of gunfire when he was younger, the sudden noise always causing him to cower in fear, but that fear dulled as he grew older.

It was different this time however, as the sound of gunfire suddenly placed him back into his situation from a few nights ago. His ear and shoulder began to burn with pain, as if he were getting shot for the first time again. The world around him grew spotty and black and his grip on the crate he was hanging onto began to slip. Without recognizing it he found himself in free fall, plummeting fifteen feet down. The image of him falling off the roof filtered through the forefront of his mind. Fortunately the snow caught his body and protected him from any serious damage. Danni ran over to his limp body, calling his name, as did Dolores, hearing the commotion outside. Yet Virgil registered none of it.

Their figures were blurred in his eyes and appeared as nothing more than shadows. Their voices sounded distant, as if he were in a tunnel, and he couldn’t register their words. All he could hear was the sound of gunfire repeatedly in his ear, and all he could see was a shadowing figure with no distinct features. In that moment he was back on the roof running for his life.

In the end he fainted and lost consciousness, too overwhelmed with reliving that night and the anxiety that came with it. 

  
  
  


A dry heat wafted up around him, making his skin feel cracked and hurt. He woke up slowly as his vision came in gradually. However the feeling of silk sheets under his fingertips made him snap into alertness and bolt up.

“Oh you’re awake.” Damien’s honeyed voice sounded at his side. Virgil snapped his head over to him and jumped back when he noticed that the other was in bed beside him. Hastily he looked under the blankets for any signs of fowl play and was significantly relieved to find that he was fully clothed. Although that relief didn’t last long as Damien laughed loudly beside him. “No, I didn’t touch you as you slept. I’m not so crass as to push you past your limit. Otherwise I wouldn’t have a good time.”

Virgil shivered at the implication and turned away, subtly scooting away. Damien, with his ever perceptive eyes, noticed when the smallest amount of distance was put between them, and pulled him back and forced him into a suffocating hold that he failingly meant to be affectionate.

“Imagine the concern I felt when you were brought to me asleep in the arms of another. I had to punish Danni for holding you so, she should have known better. But seeing as there was no other way to bring you to me, I kept her punishment light.” He said in proud voice, as if he thought himself to be the most merciful man alive. Damien then settled down and curled his limbs around Virgil’s body in a harsh grip as that rivaled a boa constrictor. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

A shuddering dread grappled at his stomach as the feeling of imprisonment began to consume him. Damien loomed over him, not only literally, but also as a rational fear that penetrated his ability to think. Virgil didn’t want to tell him that he had been triggered by hearing a gunshot, knowing that it would only give the powerful mobster more ammunition to use against him. He couldn’t exactly lie to him either, as Damien was incredibly intuitive on lie detecting, he also had to take the possibility that Danni had already told him everything. His best at covering his newfound weakness was giving a partial truth.

“I lost my grip and fell.”

The slap that sounded next ricocheted off of the metal walls, echoing in a definitive manner. Virgil held a hand over his cheek and curled in tighter, holding his knees against his chest without a glance upward at the other.

“You wanna try again?”

“It’s true! I got distracted and fell!”

Another slap, harder this time.

“Again?”

“I’m serious, I simply fell!”

Slap.

“A noise distracted me!”

_ Slap. _

“I wasn’t paying attention!”

**_Slap._ **

“I just fell!”

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap!

“A gunshot scared me, okay?!” A hit didn’t follow this time, but that didn’t make him drop his guard, or his shield of arms. “T-There was a gunshot… and I…” Virgil stopped himself from explaining himself further, he didn’t want to appear anymore pathetic than he already was. Besides, Damien had gotten what he wanted.

“A gunshot? Aw, Virgil, are you still scared from that gunman who attacked you?” Damien asked in a sickly sweet voice, wrapping his hands around his torso and pulling him in close into a suffocating hug. He ran his hands through Virgil’s hair like he was a pet, admiring the yellow threads that told others who owned him. “No one will hurt you anymore, not as long as you’re with me.”

Virgil began to struggle as Damien’s hands began to travel and wrap around his neck, giving it a squeeze and choking him lightly, allowing him space to breath, but just barely. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes with each painful and labored breath, but the sight only made Damien smirk in pleasure. Virgil wanted to whip his head down and bite that disgusting hand to get it off him, but he knew from experience that doing so would only lead to more pain and injury. Damien had claimed over and over that he would never allow anything to harm him, and then went and inflicted the most harm himself.

The little game of his went on for a few seconds more before he finally released his grip on Virgil’s neck with a dissatisfied sigh. Virgil sucked in a large breath of air as soon as he was freed and coughed harshly from the strain. Reaching a hand over, Damien picked up a walkie talkie from his bedside table and switched it on.

“Hey, he’s awake now. Send her up.” He ordered through the speaker and dropped it before a response was given.

The twenty-year-old thief looked over at the device in alarm of what was said. _She?_ _Was he about to meet his new partner?_

A knock on the door to the left of the bed answered his question before he could voice it. Damien responded with a direct “come in” and the door opened inward. A young girl with short blond hair with brown roots, obviously dyed to show ownership, stepped into the room. It was the same girl from a few days ago who bandaged him up.

“Virgil, this is Zora.” He introduced her, said girl bowing her head in respect. “I trained her in your stead while you were off being rebellious. She’s not as good in a fight as you and is better for cleaning than anything else, but she’s stealthy and quick. I have no doubt she’ll be able to keep up enough to jump in front of a bullet for you.”

His head darted up at that, his eyes wide and jaw dropped in dismay. He looked between Damien and Zora praying that it wasn’t true, but the look on both of their faces told him that it was. 

Zora wasn’t meant to be his partner, she was meant to be a human shield.

 

…

 

The conversation had moved from the desk to the couch with each of them talking on either end once the food had been finished. An hour had passed before he knew, the hands on the clock slowly passing the one and neared the half mark. The room was private and comfortable, if not a bit bland, so Patton didn’t even notice the slip of time.

Logan asked questions mainly based around current quality of living in the lower districts, particularly where Patton had said he lived, which was a lie.

The sixth district had always been his dream home, nice and suburban with a peaceful ambiance, perfect for raising children. However back when he had been saving up and searching for apartments to illegally leave the Stacks the rent in the sixth district had been too much, and the best he could do was the tenth district, but even that fell through. Over the years Patton had kept tabs on the market prices of homes and apartments in the lower districts despite knowing he’d most likely never have the chance to move there. Perhaps that was a masochistic thing to do to himself, but Patton never truly lost the fantasy of someday being able to raise his sons in a little home with a green yard for them to play in. It was ironic that when he finally was able to escape the Stacks he ended up moving into the second district rather than the sixth.

So when Logan asked these questions he had a bit of an idea of how to answer them in partial truths as if he actually knew the current state of living as well as if he had just left from there less than a year ago. What he couldn’t answer he replaced with a highly toned down version of life in the Stacks. That appeared to do the trick and successfully convince Logan as an insider-view.

In short, he told him that the closer to the city center you got the nicer it became, which was true. The sixth district used to be beautiful five years ago but it was now becoming filled with boarded up and repossessed homes that are too expensive for anyone to buy and move into. Businesses, especially in the thirteenth through ninth, were closing and leaving lots vacant for street gangs to take them over as hideouts. As more families were kicked out from their homes, and the shelters becoming more full, more encampments have been set up along the freeways and under bridges.

All of these were either true or partly exaggerated to add effect. The lies or partial truths were thus: That hot water was harder to retrieve, simple appliances and furniture were sold to get money to pay for food or more important necessities, work was becoming more scarce and was often fought over or extremely competitive, and gang violence had been raised significantly. In actuality, Patton didn’t know if what he had just said was actually happening in the lower districts, but there was a chance that it was. Either way with the current path of the economy and lack of guidance from the government, what he had described would likely be the future for those districts. The larger portion of his description was current life in the Stacks, only toned down to where it almost sounded like a haven in comparison.

He had an advantage here in these discussions in that Logan was usually far to busy to actually visit the lower districts himself, so he couldn’t point out any faultiness in what Patton was saying, not to mention that the other was appearing to trust him more as of late. It hurt Patton to lie so openly, and to someone so kind as Logan, but he had to think for the greater good.

“If businesses are being shut down due to the depression,” Logan mumbled quietly to himself, “then that law I past last year…” A bearing of horrific realization materialized across the creases of his face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know.” Patton hushed his destructive thoughts, placing a tender palm on his knee. “But you have a chance to fix it now.”

Logan looked down at his hand in surprise, obviously not expecting the sudden touch from him, and then moved his eyes up to his intense and earnest gaze. Patton would later chose to blame the heating system timer turning on, but he swore he saw a tinge of pink dusting his ears and cheeks.

“What would you suggest I do?” He asked faintly, almost as if he asked without realizing it. Patton didn’t respond straight away, placing a finger on his cheek as he pretended to mull it over, as though he hadn’t been carefully been thinking this over for the past month.

“Well, I guess you can create a law or something to encourage those businesses and even out employee payment.” Patton suggested in the tone of someone who didn’t know fully well what they were suggesting, who hadn’t been studying economics daily for weeks on end.

This was the moment, the opportunity Patton had been waiting, studying, and preparing for. Logan had finally come to him for advice on what to do. Here was his chances to slowly influence the government from the inside to put favor into the stackers’ corner. Now it all depended on whether or not Logan would chose to listen to him or not.

 

…

 

The past few days of silence has been eerie for Roman as he monitored for any signs of the kid but turned in with nothing. He didn’t know the severity of the wounds he had retrieved from Calhoun, only that he had gotten shot multiple times and still managed to get away, which meant that they were probably not fatal. Still, three nights of inactivity left a bad feeling in his stomach.

In the meantime Roman worked on upgrading his monitoring system that Talyn had set him up with. The system application had to deal with a lot of data and would often pick up errors, so he tinkered around to improve its processing file. The system application took in all of the footage data from across the city with each street, establishment, and public security camera available, adding up to over three thousands cameras he could use as eyes. What the system did however to save him massive amounts of time was search the database for anyone with over a eighty percent match to the single photo of his thief he had on file. Many of the pinpoints were false alarms and slowed him down so he wasn’t able to get a hit every night.

So for those few days of silence Roman filtered through each photo and either threw it in the trash as a miss or save it as a hit. By him doing so he can up the probability of a nightly match from fifty-three percent to seventy-two percent, which made all the difference in the world if he were to go toe to toe with Calhoun.

He didn’t like to admit it, but the inspector was phenomenal at his job, even better than him. The man had somehow managed to track down the thief that had been slipping from him for months on his first night without the assistance of previous experience with him or a high-tech searching application. He was good,  _ too  _ good. Roman had to step up his game and go all in if he wanted to capture the kid first.

Talyn had been moved to desk work for the moment as they waited assignment. Although the chief was still rather crossed with them so that may not be for a while. They also hadn’t spoken to him for the past few days as well because of that.

Roman did feel a lot of guilt for them being punished for his slothfulness, but there was nothing else he could do to make it up to them. Sorry didn’t cut it and he didn’t have the power to change their punishment. He could use his title to influence the police chief, but that would only create questions and draw attention to his involvement with the case, so that wasn’t an option.

During his time at the office Roman worked closely with the Supervisor of Urban Development on updating the regulation of downtown skyscrapers. He was also scheduled to leave to Bloom on the Coast to meet with the city council there about regulations and requirements for hurricane protection. All boring but important matters that filled his days with redundancy. 

In spite of all that tediousness, Roman was taken by surprise when Logan then called him around four in the afternoon with several requests.

“You want me to do  _ what _ ?” He repeated incredulously, still not entirely convinced of what was being demanded of him.

“I would like you to help me write up two law proposals on gang supervision and job security.”

“Okay?” He muttered, still unsure, “What are the details of these two laws?”

“I want to up police patrol of the lower districts for organized crimes. I’ve gotten word that local gangs have  arise in the past few years. I’d like you to send in a request to the police department to investigate this. I also want you to work with my Economic Adviser to protect smaller businesses and workers. I’ll look over your work and make any necessary edits before it goes in, but I would prefer that this all be done by the end of the week.” Logan directed through the other end of his desk phone.

That’s what he had told him, but Roman was still hesitant on carrying it out. He began to feel under qualified for the requirements of the position. Of course he had studied law and political science in college, but his major was focused on criminal science and that was his specialty. Creating policy to help boost and regulate the job market and economy was not what he had in mind while he studied.

Nevertheless, this is what was being asked of him and it was what he was going to do. Yet the five day time limit put a lot of stress on his shoulders, especially since he’d have to leave the city for a day to go that meeting in Bloom. Work would be tight as he ran from meeting to meeting, and keeping up with his private affairs would be even more difficult. Roman would be forced to take another break away from the field at the end of the week, so he had to make tonight count.

The tracking system application was currently fired up on his laptop sitting on his coffee table. Roman watched the screen switch from one photo to the next, three photos per second, his eyes dilated and wide from the piercing blue light of the screen. He would often forget to blink while sitting there.

As per usual no direct matches came in within the first hour. Activity usually aroused around two in the morning, with the odd occasion around one. Roman generally slept until around half past one in the morning because he knew there would be little to no activity. The clock inched closer to a quarter past two, Roman nodding off lightly, when the first direct match sounded. He jumped at the noise and pulled himself towards his laptop, searching for a location.

**District One/W Walker Rd/Sky St/22014**

Roman zoomed in on the photo and glared at the pixels, trying to make sense of them. It was him, he’d recognize that messy blond and brown mop anywhere.

Roman saved the location and transferred the app to his cellphone and left out the door, checking his belt for his handcuffs and… his gun. Roman doubted he’d be using tonight.

The tracker led him to a local jewelry store, an interesting divergence from the usual home invasions. Fifteen minutes had passed since the hit had sounded, and since then another one was made five blocks away. Roman followed as fast as he could, parking his car on the street and continuing by foot, but he knew that the hits would disappear once the kid stuck to the roofs. Yet they kept coming interestingly enough. It appeared as though the kid was keeping to the ground tonight, another oddball occurrence.

The white arrow indicating his current location was closing in on the red dot of the last sighting. Roman looked up from his phone to scan his surroundings, running on the balls of his feet to create less noise. Eventually another sighting came in, just down the alley across from him. Roman skidded to a halt and peered down the dark alleyway and saw a dark figure at the opposite end. The figure was still, whether he was facing him or not he could not tell because of the poor lighting. Roman took a hesitant step forward, and then another.

“Is that you kid?” He called down the alleyway,

“Hey old man,” The thief responded in answer, walking forward as well, “Figured you’d find me tonight. You were always strangely good at that for some reason.”

As they came in closer Roman noticed the filthy bandages around his head, but didn’t comment on them.

“I haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

“You can thank that buddy of yours for that.”

Roman scoffed, “His name is Calhoun, and he’s no friend of mine. As far as I’m concerned he’s an enemy as well.”

The young man looked intrigued and stopped walking. Roman paused as well, twenty feet away from him.

“Well then that makes the two of us.”

“What’s that old saying again? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“Too bad that doesn’t work for the two of us.” The thief chimed,

“It’s a shame.” The cop agreed,

A beat of silence flowed between them. They stared each other down in mutual respect and acknowledgement. Roman tensed and the other leaned down in preparation. Then with the blow of a whistle heard by them alone they charged down the snowy alley. As he ran Roman noticed a maintenance ladder just before him.

_ So that’s his plan. _

Roman sped faster to get to the ladder first but was just a hair late. The nameless thief squatted down and leaped for the last bar, snatching onto it with his outstretched hand. He cringed as he pulled himself up and was slowed down just slightly, but that was all Roman needed. Catching up from behind, Roman was able to latch his left hand around his ankle and, once his grip was firm enough, he yanked him down with a force strong enough to make him lose his grip of the ladder bars. The thief yelped and came tumbling down, rolling with his weight as he landed to minimize the pain. He quickly attempted to scramble to his feet but Roman was on top of him in a flash, struggling to hold down his flailing, punching arms. The knees of his pants grew wet as the light snow beneath them melted with their movement.

“Get the fuck off’a me!” He cursed, snapping his teeth at him as though he were a rabid animal. The thief awkwardly maneuvered his legs, spreading his hips open, and brought his foot up and nailed it in Roman’s abdomen. Roman coughed at the pain but refused to budge and instead slammed a leg over the other’s to keep it down. “Let me go Roman!”

“I can’t!” Roman shouted, his voice wavering, “I can’t. Not again.”

Confusion flashed through the younger man’s eyes for a brief moment, and then it passed and morphed into anger.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He yelled, grabbing onto his biceps with both hands.

Out of nowhere an electric shock shot through his body and caused immediate agony. Roman instinctively let go of the other and fell onto his side, giving opportunity for the nameless thief to slide out from under him. Roman sprang forward and grabbed onto his ankle, determined to make this the last fight and finally bring him in. However it was clear that the thief wasn’t willing to give up either. He twisted around and got hold of Roman’s forearm and released another shock into his body. Roman clenched his teeth and yelled out in pain, but he didn’t let go. Obviously put off by his refusal, the thief grabbed hold of him with his other hand too, increasing the voltage of the shock. Roman yelled even louder and closed his eyes shut but did not cave in, tightening his grip.

“Hey… dude let go… I’m hurting you. Let go,” Roman shook his head vigorously, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. The pain was excruciating, but it wasn’t as bad as the guilt he felt for failing Talyn, or the idea of failing again now, or the crushing awareness that he wanted to fail. “Let go Roman!”

“N-No!”

A swift weight crashed into his back and ripped his arms from their hold. The sudden impact drew his mind to a blank, making him temporarily forget about the pain in his arms, and then a new pain took its place in his chest. The air in his lungs was knocked out and blood shot out from his mouth; his ribs felt crushed and the instant whiplash of the impact caused his head to slam into the concrete underneath him.

“Virgil! Are you okay?” A concerned feminine voice spoke from above him.

_ So that’s his name. _

“Zora? I told you to wait on the roof!”

“But I saw you getting attacked and I-”

“Nevermind that.” Virgil cut it, “We have to get out of here fast. Get back up on the roof and keep a lookout.”

The woman didn’t say anything more, but he felt pressure leave his back and heard footsteps retreat away from them. Roman took in shallow breaths, still winded from the sudden attack, his head throbbing. He heard a sigh above him and moved his eyes up to their highest point, blood from an unidentified wound seeped down his face and blurred his vision, and he was only able to see Virgil’s legs begin to walk away. Roman bit his lip and tried to push himself up, grunting as he dragged his feet along and strained to get to his knees.

“Stay down!” Virgil ordered him, his back turned away, “You’re too hurt, seriously, how many times am I gonna have to kick your ass only to save it?”

Roman huffed out a dry laugh, shakily standing to his feet, panting at the amount of energy that simple act had taken from him.

“As many times as it takes to capture you, Virgil.” He grinned,

Virgil stared him down for a heartbeat or two, his expression unreadable. Roman swayed on his feet, still unsteady from the fight and unexpected knockout. His head hung low as his eyes grew heavy and his vision spotty. Even so, he did his best to stand to his tallest height and appear unfazed. Virgil huffed and rolled his eyes at the obvious bluff and walked over to him, bringing one of Roman’s arms over his smaller, but firm, shoulders.

“Yeah, okay dickhead, just point me in the direction of your car. Can’t leave you bleeding in the alleyway now can I?”

Roman smiled lightly and snickered at the irony of the present situation. He had sworn to himself that tonight would be the night he brought Virgil into justice and wrap up this chapter of his life. Yet look at him now, tired, beaten, and being led to his car by the one he had sworn to capture. An odd feeling of peace filled him in that moment and he found that he no longer cared that he didn’t succeed.

That being said, Roman hadn’t forgotten all of the crimes Virgil committed, or the fact that they were still enemies at ends. But when he looked to Virgil’s belt and saw rows of deadly knives, and saw his own gun at his hip, it dawned at them that a mutual agreement had somehow formed between them not to kill without them knowing it. Roman knew that one day he’d be forced to take Virgil in for good, but he couldn’t help the deeper desire to keep this little game of theirs going for as long as possible. Because once that was over there would no longer be an excuse to see the kid again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am late again, but y'all know the drill by now. (his name's bill) This chapter was honestly intense for me to write at some points, but I'm really proud with how it turned out. I am tired and posting this late at night, so please comment to make my suffering feel worth it, yay!  
> Also, I updated the tags, so please look over them.  
> As always y'all are so sweet and I love y'all dearly, thank you and see you in the next update! (don't be surprised if it's late again. lol I'm trying my best)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of death and violence

Roman sat alone in his car, the heater turned all the way up, the seat down flat, for a good while after Virgil had left him there. No words were exchanged when he left, just an awkward glance and tense atmosphere. He understood why that was though and didn’t expect any sort of proper goodbye. Since August the two of them had been at ends trying to fwort each other, their relationship founded on an unclear drive and common contempt. Yet tonight, and the night before, had somehow shaken that foundation out from the brick into fickle sand. 

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment their relationship started to shift, even when Virgil had peculiarly decided to save him instead of letting him fall to his death didn’t feel like the start, something else had led up to that. Up until now the two of them could have been labeled as the classic “cop and robber.” Two individuals at ends with each other, forever destined to be each others’ undoing. Tonight had taken that previous idea, crushed it up, chewed it, and spit it out into that alleyway.

In all the months they have been acquaintances, if that’s what you could even call them, they had never held an actual conversation. Their run-ins had always consisted of simple threats, taunts, and then silence. This night was the closest they had ever gotten to actually talking with each other as normal people, and it still consisted of each of those three commonalities. Virgil cussed, called him names, and yelled at him, yet he managed to do all of those things while being concerned for him when he was voluntarily being electrocuted because he wouldn’t let go. It was something Roman couldn’t quite wrap his head around, the fact that Virgil would care that he was getting hurt, even if it was him doing it. His words could have easily been a ploy to escape, but the quiver in his voice as he shouted those commands told him otherwise.  

That being said, what really threw him for a loop was when they first saw each other in that alley and didn’t immediately start a fight. Instead they walked slowly to each other, talking as if they were old friends from college, or something like that, meeting up again for the first time after a falling out. There was an air of familiarity between them with a unique lightness, like there was an inside joke between them that only they understood, but still tense with unresolved grudges from their not too distant past.

The young woman named Zora was also an unexpected factor he had never accounted for. She didn’t appear to be all that strong or combat-inclined, but neither did Virgil when then they first met. The woman had attacked his weak spot from out of the shadows, taking him down before he was even made aware of her presence. The way she spoke to Virgil also came off as unusual. The first thing she did once she appeared, after attacking him obviously, was ask after Virgil’s well being. The thief in turn said that she was not meant to be there and ordered her back on the roof as though he were in a position of power over her and had been disobeyed; and  by the way she followed through with his behest implied that he was.

Roman wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired tonight meant for the future or what was to become of them once this was all over, but he feared that everything was going to be overly complicated from now on. The fact that Virgil now had an accomplice would only prolong his capture and make it that much more difficult. The inclusion of Calhoun as a rival to capture him first meant that Roman would have to dedicate even more of his scarce time to his cause. And the confusion of thoughts and emotions that have begun to pull at him, propelled further by the strange attachment stirring between them, or at least in him, would only hold him back.

None of that could stand in his way. This reign of lust and fear over his city must come to an end for the sake of everyone’s feeling of security. Millions more worth of treasures and possessions could be swiped by this lustful dragon before he willed his blade into his heart. As he saw it, Virgil had the choice between a merciful sword or a poisonous, sadistic arrow. 

Roman was not entirely sure what plan Calhoun had for Virgil, but based off what he had done he didn’t expect it to be all too kind. He may not be able to condone his crimes, but a dragon was still a creature no matter how beastly. Virgil didn’t deserve death for everything he’s done, but he did deserve proper punishment, and Roman was determined to make sure he was there to oversee his sentence.  

 

…

 

Zora sat perched on top of a duplex narrowing her eyes into the palely lit streets stories below her feet. She was about to follow through with Virgil’s order to go ahead of him to keep an eye out for any more potential danger once she was sure she had taken the attacker out of commission, but she froze on the ladder when she looked down and noticed that Virgil had not followed her or walked away from the man’s body.

Instead, Virgil appeared to be speaking with him. Offering a hand, he helped the stranger onto his feet and half-carried him out of the dark alleyway. Foregoing the lesser of her two orders, Zora leaped over to the next building and watched as they limped five blocks over until they reached an expensive looking silver car. 

When they reached the vehicle Virgil practically threw him onto the ground next to it and marched off after a short moment of inactivity. He weaved his way back into the closest alley and peered up, meeting her eye. Zora shrunk back slightly, embarrassed that her presence was so easily perceived by him. Virgil glared up at her with a knowing glance, a glint of both warning and begging in his irises. 

It was then that Zora realized that Virgil knew she had seen what he had done and was demanding, pleading, her not to tell their master.

Virgil then continued winding around the labyrinth of side streets with such clear expertise that it left her behind figuratively and literally in awe at his prowess in a field she had been in for the past two years when he had been retired for the past three.

Her lip twitched in anticipation.

 

...

 

After perhaps an hour or so of him lying there in his vehicle, Roman brought his seat up and drove back into his apartment in a tired haze. Busting in and passing out on his couch as soon as he arrived at his doorstep. He was fully aware that his body would curse him in the morning when he woke for his choice to not move to his soft bed, but his tired limbs and exhausted brain refused to stand any longer. 

He didn’t see the time before he went to sleep so he wasn’t too sure of how many hours of sleep he had gotten, but based off of his raging headache and heavy eyelids he’d say he didn’t get very many. The alarm on his cell phone blasted from the floor under the coffee table, ringing for nearly a full minute before the tone managed to pull him out from his deep slumber. Blearily, Roman reached out with a groan and hit the off button and pulled the screen closer to his face to check any missed notifications.

**2 Unread Messages**

**7 New Emails**

Yawning widely and stretching out his sore limbs like a cat, Roman sat up sluggishly, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He would have to go into the office in about forty-five minutes, which was barely enough time to get ready let alone drive there.

Roman picked himself up off the couch, grunting as a crook in his neck and a knot in his back popped. He dragged his feet through his morning routine, showering and dressing much slower despite knowing that he was already late. By the time he had arrived at the office complex, Diana was in one of her fits that only he could induce.

“There you are!” She hissed when he walked out of the elevator, marching to him at a swift pace, “Where have you been? I already had to hold three calls and postpone a seven forty-five meeting until eight thirty!” She practically howled in his face.

The other secretaries and assistant on the floor looked on with pity. Diana had become well known in the office for constantly having to pick up his slack and makeup for the issues his antics caused. 

“Sorry Ana, I accidentally slept in again.” Roman apologized with a bow of the head.

“That’s what you said last week! With all the work I’ve been doing I should be getting paid extra compensation.”

Roman looked at her, observing the bags under her eyes and stress lines on her forehead.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to HR about it.” He said, grabbing the schedule out of her hands to look over his day.

“I- wait, really?” She stuttered in disbelief.

“Of course,” He grinned, “You deserve it.”

Roman turned into his personal office, all but one of the blinds drawn closed, and dropped his schedule on his desk next to the pile of work that was already waiting for him. He was due to be in a meeting in twenty minutes with the Labor Commissioner, Alexis Montoya, to address the Senator’s latest request.

Cool, mysterious brown eyes floated in his mind as he worked, rarely leaving him alone as he went through his day, even when his ears were talked off while working with other officials. Roman cursed at the thoughts and at the one who had caused them.

Perhaps his one day trip to Bloom the next day would do his mind some good with the fresh sea air. But for now, he had some other important business to take care of with his closest friend.

As punctual as ever, Talyn arrived at his office right on the dot at two in the afternoon, just as he had requested. Diana showed them to his office when they came in, looking curiously at the guest but saying nothing. Roman looked up from his paperwork when they walked in, presently kept busy speaking on the phone with a local town committee. He noticed that they had changed their hair color again from pumpkin orange to pine green.

“Yes sir I understand your concern,” He spoke into the phone, gesturing for Talyn to sit down in one of the chairs while he finished up with business, “Actions are already being taken to update security regulation... Yes I- I’m well aware of that fact... No I can’t disclose any more information on the matter. However I can confirm that improving protocol is on top of the agenda… My pleasure, thank you sir.” Roman hung up the phone and leaned back into his chair with a groan, slapping a hand on his forehead.

“Another complaint?” Talyn asked,

“Yeah, a local business union is outraged at the recent increase in robberies. Hah, can’t wait to hear their reaction when they get wind of the new policy.” He muttered half to himself, Talyn looked as if they were about to ask further about his statement, but he waved them off, deciding to get to the point. “Anyways, about why your here. It has come to my attention recently that there has been an increase of organized crime, and I  am in need of a team of undercover officers to lead a mission to infiltrate the local gang. I don’t have much intel to give you, so if you agree you’ll be going in almost completely blind.”

Talyn didn’t reply right away, which was so unlike them, instead they simply sat there with their hands folded in their lap. Usually Talyn would be undeterred by bad odds and even seek out assignments where the likelihood of success was stacked against them. Could that mean that they don’t want the position simply because he’s the one offering it, did he really mess up that badly to make them hate him?

“Look, I know I screwed up with you losing your previous assignment and position because of my negligence, but that’s why I want you to be the one to lead this mission. Out of every officer I’ve ever known you’re the only one I trust to go into unknown territory where we can’t track you and come out alive. So please,” Roman bowed his head, “please help me once more and take this job.”

Talyn remained quiet, making Roman squirm in anticipation. After a few long suffering seconds they began to laugh.

“Jeez, you’re the same as always aren’t you Ro? So quick to judge a situation.” They huffed out a laugh, dropping their previous off-putting atmosphere. “For the record, there’s no amount of fuck ups you could reach to make me turn down a case this interesting.”

Roman let out whiny sigh, instantly relieved that he hadn’t been rejected out right.

“So I’m going in blind huh?”

“For the most part. As I said we don’t have much to go on, and due to nature of this mission you’ll only have two partners to lower the possibility of detection.” Roman confirmed.

 

...

 

That morning Zora didn’t tell Damien about his and Roman’s fight, or about him helping the other back to his car after he had severely weakened him; but he did not doubt that she would eventually. She had those eyes, dull with a lack of color and life, that he knew so well. She was in fear of and completely under Damien’s control, and that will surely prove to be a real pain in the ass later on.

Even after she had accompanied him back to Damien’s hideout to give a report on last night, she still followed after him, most likely under direction by Damien himself. It took quite a while before he was able to lose her but eventually he was able to throw Zora off of his trail. Still he kept his guard up in case she managed to sneak up on him, although he doubted that she could. 

Zora proved that she had the correct skills required to be in this line of work, where you have to be able to completely erase your presence and move with complete stealth, but he could tell that she was still quite green. She wasn’t at his level yet, and that’s why he was able to both notice her following him and get away. Zora had been trained well, she had great potential and skill, after all they both had the same teacher.

The thing that set the two of them apart however was drive and intent. Zora worked solely to please Damien, while Virgil had his own agenda with future plans to one day destroy him. It was obvious their loyalties lied in different places, and that was most likely why she had been chosen as his partner.

The thirteenth district looked as if it had gone even worse to shit in the short time he had been gone. Virgil walked with caution as he traveled down the streets, passing druggies, smokers, and punks all looking for trouble as he went, eyeing him up and down with either hunger or fear, and some with both. Virgil was well aware that he stood out among them, his bright yellow hair acting as a blaring red flag not to mess with him specifically because of the connotations that came with the color.

Despite his short reign of less than a decade, Damien had earned a reputation for being especially cruel and vicious. Within a span of three years during his early days, back when Virgil was still a homeless kid and not involved with him, Damien had managed to take down two other large crime lords, each with a massive following and powerful arsenal.

The two lords had been at ends for well over a decade with a heavy history stained with blood. Damien saw this and managed to sneak his way under the wing of both of them and gained their trust, working as both of their adviser. In under less than a year he stage the murder of one lord’s kid sister and pinned the blame on the other lord, while at the same time killing that lord’s best friend and directing the guilt off of himself. Blinded by rage the two crime lords eagerly listened to Damien’s plan for revenge that lead to an all out brawl. Later that night, Damien watched the slaughter pleasantly from a high vantage point, enjoying the show as if he were a mere child at a circus. In the end when the two lords were worn out and in the cusp of death, he came down and killed them both himself.

There is a lot of speculation among local thugs and criminals about what exactly happened that night, as there were very few survivors, but many tell of the wide smile he wore as he beheaded the two lords, and the words he had spoken to them.

_ “Thanks for playing with me! I had fun!” _

He had still been a teenager back then, yet he had managed to single-handedly be the sole undoing for the two most powerful men around, and not just by strength alone, but also by wit. He may appear insane at times, but no one was more calculating and intelligent than him around.

That is why Virgil was able to walk around with bright blond hair without being jumped. Before it was common for slaves of one gang to be kidnapped by another, but Damien was known for being possessive over what was his and merciless to those who dared to touch that which they did not own. It was also a common fact to those who were in his close circle or in the same line of business that Virgil was his personal favorite, and messing with him almost certainly meant death. Virgil hated this truth with his entire being, but he took advantage of it when he could.

Turning away from the opened streets he made his way down underground to visit a pal, with terms and conditions, of his. His little shop had been updated since he was last there, complete with almost entirely new merchandise. Nevertheless, it as still overcrowded and unorganized as hell.

“Yo Remy!” Virgil shouted as he walked into the main room, spotting the man in question leaning over the counter showing off a golden watch to some douche in a fur coat, “The fuck is with this mess? I’m almost tempted to steal half the stuff in here.”

“Virgey!” Remy sang cheerfully upon seeing him, throwing his hands up as he ran over and enveloped him in a wide hug. “It’s been too long! Where’ve ya been this whole time?”

“Swiping shit and getting my ass kicked.”

“So I’ve heard, Damey came in the other day requesting a bullet proof jacket for you. I hope it’s suitable for you, I made it with your slim figure in mind.”

“Yeah it’s fine, oh by the way, that dude just pocketed five watches.” He pointed out, nodding his head to the snobbish looking customer at the other end of the shop. 

The man froze at the words and warily looked over to them before attempting a mad dash for the exit, which was tricky since they were standing right next to it. Remy merely sighed and grabbed a nearby baseball bat, smashing it into the man’s side as he attempted to pass them by. The snobbish man fell to the ground with a holler of pain. Remy made quick work of him, cleaning out his pockets of all the stolen merchandise, and even a little extra, before kicking him out with only a mild threat upon his life.

All the while this was happening, Virgil was barely able to keep in his laughter contained as that novice of a thief failed epically to snatch a few watches. It was so obvious he had been intending to steal them that Virgil didn’t say anything right away because he wanted to see how he’d go about doing it.

“Sorry you had to see that babe,” Remy apologized, setting the bat back in its place and carrying the watches back to their display case.

“Nah, that was entertaining, it’s not everyday I get to see someone do something so stupid up close.”

“Hah, well it’s a common occurrence here for me. People always think they can pull a fast one on me.” He pulled out his coffee pot and poured two cups of hot brew.

“Well maybe they wouldn’t think that if you didn’t flirt with every guy that came your way.”

“Yeah sorry babe but that’s not gonna happen, not until I finally meet my prince charming.” He chimed handing him a mug with a cheeky grin, “Although it looks like you finally got yourself someone.”

Virgil nearly spat out his drink at that.

“ _ What? _ ”

Remy pointed at his own ring finger and nodded towards Virgil’s left hand with a tilt of his head. Virgil followed his gaze and saw the golden band with a ruby centerpiece. He clenched his fist at the sight of it.

“Oh. No, this is from Damien.”

“Ah, he finally proposed huh?” Remy muttered, his usual pep gone from his voice.

Was that what that was? It didn’t feel like a marriage proposal, more like a binding contract in which he had no say. And even if it was, Virgil would have thrown that ring in his face and openly welcome any punishment in turn to not being forced into a marriage with that man. He may be bound to him due to his life debt, but that was not equivalent to a marriage. No matter how much power and authority Damien held over him, no matter what he did to his body, Virgil will never fully belong to him.

“No, just him being a controlling fuck. Said if I take it off I’ll die, and I’d rather not just yet. Have too many plans to put into action.” Virgil laughed it off, not knowing how else to speak of the manipulative and abusive man who held claim over him than to joke about his situation.

Remy laughed along with him, but it was a dry, cracked chuckle, lacking of any real humor behind it. Of all of his two friends, including his adoptive father, Remy was the only one he was close to who truly understood what he was going through. The black market owner had been with the gang leader before Virgil had come into the mix. They hadn’t been anything too serious to suggest a deeper relationship, but they had been close enough for Remy to understand how brutal the other could be behind closed doors. Virgil wasn’t sure how long they had been together, or exactly when they separated, but there was an unspoken suspicion between the two friends that the relationship had ended because Virgil had caught Damien’s unwanted attention.

The topic was quickly changed once the strain of the subtle shift in the atmosphere was felt. Instead, Remy got straight to the point and asked what he had come there for, as it was rare that Virgil would ever stopped by simply to have a nice chat.

“I need cough medicine, and I want it by either today or tomorrow.” Virgil also offhandedly noted that he needed to exchange raw materials for cash as well.

“That depends girl, whatcha got for me?”

Virgil reached into the smallest front pocket of his tattered backpack and pulled out a ruby pendant and opal earrings, setting them down on the table between them.

“That enough?”

Remy hummed and tapped the jewels around the table, picking up each one and analyzing them with a keen eye, looking for imperfections and proof of authenticity.

“Perhaps… how much you need?”

“As much as you can give me.” Virgil breathed out leaning forward away the back cushion, elbows on his knees and face in his palms.

Noticing the genuine concern in his face, he leaned in and asked, “Is it for a friend? Or maybe a secret lover?”

Virgil remained silent, his eyes glossing over as his gaze grew distant with deep thought. 

A friend… Hoa was not; even now that he had ask for her forgiveness, provided her with a secure place to live away from her previous situation and with food to feed herself and her infant, he still didn’t feel like he had the right to be anything more than a helpful stranger. Hoa had made it clear over and over that she held no grudge or hate against him, thanking him constantly for all that he’s done, but Virgil still couldn’t find it in him to forgive himself.

He had known of and seen what she was being put through, watched the way she was abused openly in public, but did nothing to stop it from happening. For all the times she was pushed around, hurt, and gone without meals he was too focused on the hatred of having futile luxuries he did not want thrown at him, not realizing that they could be given away to those who needed them instead of being dumped into the river as a childish form of protest. Virgil may have been young, but he was not so young where foolishness on such a scale could, or should, be easily forgiven.

“I did someone wrong, this is the least I can do to make up for it,” was all he said in response, his voice low and full of drive.

The black-marketer studied the tightness of his face and the way he held himself as he spoke. In his field of work it was a key attribute to be able to read others’ thoughts just by watching them, to know when someone was interested in buying or if they’re planning to rob you blind while your back is turned. Remy has known Virgil for only a few short years since he had first been introduced to him as a potential partner in business, and as much as Virgil denied it, he wore his emotions on his face like an open book. It was fairly easy to tell what he was thinking because of the look in his eyes. Despite everything he’s been through, and the dulling of past experiences, Virgil’s eyes still shined in radiance. The were two emotions in particular than always shined the brightest, his fury and his guilt; yet these emotions would usually mix to create a singular one that was even more powerful, his passion. 

In this instance Remy could tell that Virgil was led to a passionate desire to help because of the intense guilt he felt. Remy inwardly sighed at that. It was so like Virgil to take on more guilt than one person could bare alone; and it was a miracle that someone so small and thin could hold in so much rage and not implode.

“Very well then,” the smuggler uttered out, standing up and whipping out a few bills to slap down on the table to cover a small percentage of the jewels’ worth, “good medicine is an expensive trade, but this should be enough by get a packet or two.” 

“Could you throw in a blanket as well?” Virgil called out as Remy walked away towards his workshop.

“Of course I can, who do you think I am?” He chided bounding away with a sway in his hips.

Virgil grinned briefly, pleased that he had secured medicine and a blanket to help out Hoa, and hopefully Mary as well if there was enough for too, but he let it fall as he exited the basement of the abandoned building. The medicine would only be useful if Hoa and Mary, mostly the former since she was the worst off, were able to stay alive within the next day or two to receive it. Until then he’d have to go and find some sturdy food that their sick bodies could stomach. 

Hoa was too young to die, not to mention the young child that depended solely on her would be at risk if anything happened to her; and Mary had struggled through life for too long to lose it now to a fever. Virgil didn’t want to chose who lived and who died, so he swore to himself that he’d save both of them. He couldn’t afford to be idle, never again.

 

…

 

Christmas was nearing, apparently one week away. Thomas and Emile didn’t know what Christmas was but they had heard the other children in class talking about lists of gifts they had asked for and how upset they’d be if they didn’t get everyone of them. The twins had asked why they were getting gifts in the first place, the children replied that they had earned them. The twins asked what they had done to earn them, the children said that they had been good boys and girls during the year. The twins didn’t believe them.

Emily had laughed at Thomas the other day when his shoelace got stuck in the door, and instead of helping him she went and grabbed her friends to laugh along with her. Adam had also not been good; last week he had pushed Emile off the slide because he wanted to go down first. Marcus, Andre, Elizabeth, Mickie, all of them in their class had done something mean, so why did they deserve presents for lying about their year?

Emile pointed this error out to them. Adam pushed him down and the others yelled at him for being dumb, while the girls cried for the mean things he had said about them. Thomas tried to stop them and ended up punching Adam in the face, making the boy sob. The homeroom teacher came over when she heard the commotion and asked what had happened. The other children all told her that the twins had been bullying them, so she put them in timeout.

During their recess break Thomas and Emile watched their classmates play from the window. Marcus stuck gum in Elizabeth’s hair and she chased him around the grass. The two of them watched this with confusion and disdain.

“Thomas, will we get gifts for Christmas? Are we bad?” Emile asked his brother, looking away from the window.

“Don’t worry Emmy! We don’t push others around so we’ll get us lots of gifts!” Thomas smiled grabbing his brother’s hand.

Fifteen minutes later the children filed back in and began their arts and crafts projects, excluding Thomas and Emile from their groups as they always did. Thomas made a finger painting of a bird while Emile made a cut out of a tree for his brother’s bird to live in. A little later, as they were finishing up, their teacher came and looked over their shoulders.

“Emile, sweety, you’re supposed to be painting an animal, not making cut outs.” She corrected him, “Besides, trees are green not pink.”

“But pink is my favorite color.” Emile told her with a small pout.

“It’s not realistic.” She scolded him and took away his pink-leafed tree, handing him a blank sheet of white paper. “Start again.”

Emile watched sadly as his craft was taken away from him and glared at the white paper he had been given. Thomas rested a hand on his shoulder and offered him his help, giving him all of his pink paint. The younger twin still frowned but dipped a finger in the paint and painted a cat. They were supposed to be painting their favorite animals, but the only ones they had ever seen were feral cats, rats, mice, and birds. His brother was allergic to them, as was their dad, but Emile always found their whiskers to be cute.

After another thirty minutes the bell rang and they washed the dried paint off of their hands as class ended for the day. Children ran around gathering their bags, stuffing them loosely with their daily work, and sloppily throwing in their coats, mittens, and hats. The twins calmly walked to their cupboard and dressed in their stuffy winter clothes. The coats that their dad had gotten them earlier that month were warm but hard to move in, plain and single-colored, completely opposite of the bright and colorful patches that covered their old coats. Once they were fully dressed and prepared for the cold outside the twins walk out from their classroom hand in hand and exited the elementary building of the academy.

Families stood out as little grey and black dots among the white sheets of snow that blanketed the ground. Pretty and shiny cars lined up in the pick up lane awaiting students. Nannies and caretakers accompanied small children home in their parents stead. All of them had vehicles, none of them walked. 

Thomas and Emile scanned the courtyard for a man in black-rimmed glasses and a light blue coat that they could identify as their dad. Their dad had always been the one waiting for them in the cold, his arms wide open with a large smile on his face. He always followed the mentality of “an hour early is better than a minute late,” yet five minutes had already gone by and their dad was nowhere to be seen. 

The twins didn’t voice their concerns aloud, but one glance at each other told them that they were both wondering the same thing.

_ “Did we do something wrong?” _

Sat on the staircase to their school building, Emile watched the families file out of the dwindling courtyard while Thomas rolled around in the snow next to him. His little red glasses fogged up with the hot, sticky air from his breath as he began to shiver from the cold. Another five minutes passed, ten in total, before the distant blue figure of their dad came running towards them.

“Boys!” He called to them waving his arms wildly in the air.

“Papa!” Thomas cried joyfully, bounding up from his little snow ditch and barreling over and slamming his face into their dad’s stomach, causing the older man to groan at the impact. Emile also ran over once he saw their dad, but with more control and less speed. 

“Where were you?” Thomas pouted with a small, angry face, throwing his tiny fists around.

“I’m sorry Thomas, I was caught up with Senat- Logan, at work. But he offered to give us a ride so that I wouldn’t be too late.” Patton said apologetically, hoisting Thomas up onto his hip with one arm and holding onto Emile’s hand with the other. Their dad commented on how cold they both felt, apologized profusely once more for being late, and promised hot cakes when they arrive back at the manor.

Emile looked forward in the distance towards the black car they were walking to, just like all the other children had done. He noticed the tall, nice man who owned the manor waiting beside the car, watching them as they walked up. Mister Senator Logan was his name, but Emile would often hear different names being used by the staff at the manor. Mr. Senator nodded to them as they arrived at the car and opened the door, offering to take his brother from his dad’s hands and helping to buckle the boys’ seat belts in the back. Their dad climbed into the front seat with the Mr. Senator and thanked him for driving them, to which he waved him off saying it caused no issue.

For the duration of the ride Thomas ogled at the beautiful interior of the car, asking Mr. Senator question after question about what was what and what it did. The man answered all of them with detail, never appearing to tire out from his brother’s endless questioning even when their dad showed concern. Emile sat quietly and played with the buttons on his red coat and watched the tall stone buildings pass by, missing the familiarity of metal piles, although he’d never tell his dad that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. SO. SORRY. My musical is showing next week so after that I can have my life back and update on time. I hope this chapter was good, I kinda rushed some parts.  
> Also I don't really know if it was a good idea to introduce an OC this late in the story (do y'all even care about Hoa or Dolores?) but oh well.  
> I love y'all, thank you for reading my story and I'll see you next time!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: prostitution mention, gun violence

The sight of the long and steady rise and fall of her chest filled him with relief when he brought Pearl back from his babysitting. Hoa napped lightly on her sleeping mat, cuddled deeply under the fluffy blanket he had bought for her so that only a bit of her forehead and sleek, black hair was visible. It had been nearly a week since he received the medicine from Remy and for the first three days he had almost given up when she showed no reaction to the treatment. However, the next day, after a bout of morning sickness caused her to heave up whatever was in her empty stomach, she began to slowly recover. Hoa still needs much more rest until she would be back to her old self, but she had at least regained some of her color again.

Stepping over to the box crib, Virgil set Pearl down and tucked her in; making sure her skin was kept out of the nippy air.

He had decided to kill two birds with one stone that day by taking care of Pearl while he did Dolores and Agatha’s laundry down at the river, since they were in no shape to go down themselves in the current weather. Virgil had wrapped the tiny baby against his chest with layers of cloth before pulling his jacket over her, leaving the top zipped low enough to allow her space to breathe and not freeze at the same time. He waded into to numbingly, painfully, cold water and washed the clothes against the smooth river rocks, careful to drip any water on Pearl. Few were brave enough to step into the cold river this time of year, namely the hungry hoping for fish, but he was happy to do it if it meant something to do that didn’t involve Damien or his addictive profession.

Once he had finished washing the small amount of clothes, he wrung them out and threw them over a nearby tree’s branches, building a small fire under to help dry them and keep him and Pearl warm as he waited. If she began to shiver he’d run around the rocky beach to radiate more heat for her. As soon as the clothes were an acceptable amount of damp, he piled them up in his backpack and walked back to give them to their owners before returning Pearl to her mother and check up on Hoa’s state.

When Virgil had first received the medicine he had been conflicted over how to divide it between Mary and Hoa, as both women were doing pretty badly health wise. Overall Hoa was doing worse so he decided to give the larger portion to her and the smaller to Mary, but when he tried to give the old coot her share she refused to take any at all. He tried to be persistent with helping her but any attempt by him was swatted away with weak, feeble hands. Whether he liked it or not Mary had resigned herself to her fate.

Virgil tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen, not even Agatha or Dolores would step in to smack some sense into their best friend.

“I’ve lived in this hellhole for sixty-three years,” Mary told him with a howl of a cough, “an’ while I don’ remember much, I remember livin’ happily with m’parents in one of the middle districts. When m’parents suddenly announced that my father had got a job transfer, I didn’ think much of it.”

Agatha, who had been the closest with Mary, came to sit at her head, petting her wiry hair to sooth her from what she knew were painful memories. Dolores, on the other hand, turned away, focusing more intently on her next quilt than on what her friend was saying. However when a pitiful cough racked up Mary’s body, Dolores couldn’t help but look back in concern. Agatha quickly offered her water and Virgil moved to help her, but she weakly shook her head at them.

“I’ve been here too long, it’s time to see m’parents and finally go back home.” Mary breathed out a huff of choked air and gave him a small grin. “This place may be damned, but you’re a good one, for a thief anyways. Keep an eye on the others, m’kay?”

Another fit of horrid coughs overtook her and her breathing became haggard. Agatha moved fast to lift her shoulders to making breathing a little easier.

“Shh, you’ve said ‘nough, get some rest now.” She whispered to her friend, patting her cheek. Suddenly her wrinkled hand stilled when she no longer felt air being blown against her palm. Agatha swollen and gave a shaky pat on the older woman’s thin shoulder, laying her down and scooting away.

Apparently she had been worse off than Virgil had first suspected.

The cheeky grin that had always seemed to be plastered to her face was the same in death as it was in life. Yet now there seemed to be a new kind of peace to it.

Virgil clenched his fists in the fabric of his pants, his body slightly shaking as he gazed at the lifeless body. Agatha spoke up before his thoughts could.

“This ain’t yo’ fault Virgil, Mary’s been looking forward to seein’ her parents for an awful long time.” 

He knew she was right, he did, but he still felt like he could have done more. Even if this was what she wanted he could have kept her alive a little longer if he had made her take the medicine. Then again, maybe this was more gracious. As much as he hated to admit it, it may have been better that she didn’t have to bear through another winter there.

The three of them didn’t want to leave the body of Mary to the sweepers, so the next day they took her to the burning grounds and conducted a small ceremony before placing her in the wide ditch of ash. Virgil stayed a little longer than the other two, his eyes fixated on the mounds of dust. A sour taste covered his palette and the burning hatred within him simmered. Turning his head to the city that lay in the distance he questioned to himself if they could see them down there, although he knew they couldn’t.

Pearl bubbled and giggled as his fingers fluttered around her as his mind was lost to memories. He had unknowingly been tickling her, the sound of her childish laughter creating juxtaposition to his dismal thoughts. As it turned out, the baby’s laughter hadn’t snapped only him back into the waking world.

“You’re here?” Hoa asked quietly, watching him with one eye as her fist rubbed gently over the other.

“I was about to leave.” He still had to change out of his wet pants.

Hoa yawned and slowly rose up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders as she did so. Standing on wobbly legs Hoa walked to her daughter and picked her up, carrying her back to her mat to breastfeed under the blanket. She didn’t mind that he was still there and he didn’t care that she chose to feed her child in front of him, although he did turn to the side to offer her a little more privacy. Dignity was something rare to come by there and was to be treasured when available. In regards to people like them, dignity was something sacred.

“Are you feeling well?” Virgil inquired,

“Enough to feed? Yes. Enough to work? No.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Virgil huffed out a bitter chuckle. Hoa giggled along with him, well aware of what type of work they were referring to.

“You don’t have to go to work there you know. Damien doesn’t own you.”

Virgil hated himself when he felt a trickle of envy.

“You know there’s little work for stackborns, without any real skill I have nothing else to offer to make money.”

“You could apprentice with Dolores and Agatha and become a seamstress.”

“Hm, I’m not so sure, there’s an abundance of clothesmakers here as an easy trade.”

There was a pregnant pause in the air as their conversation came to a sudden halt with words left unsaid. Hoa shifted uncomfortably on the mat and pulled the blanket up higher when it slipped. Virgil knew what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to take on another partner, especially since he had one forced on him. But it was the only option he could think of to offer as a solution to her predicament.

“I could teach you to make clocks?” He offered speaking tentatively, “It may not pay much, but it could help you get by.”

Hoa blinked at him in surprised as though she had been expecting something else. “Are you sure?” she asked, “I’ll probably be really bad at it.”

“Yep, with my help you’ll be a pro in no time.” That’s a lie, it takes years to learn.

“Okay then, sure, teach me how to make clocks.” Hoa smiled tenderly, honestly for the first time in weeks.

“Sure thing partner, and once I get my own shop I’ll hire you on the spot.” 

Virgil wasn’t usually one for spreading false hope or pointless optimism, but knowing what her only other available option was, Virgil wanted to convince her that his offer was the better choice. When it came to his position and purpose in bed with Damien, it was only due to his lack of free will in the matter. For Hoa, it was because of a lack of education and skill. 

There was a major difference between citystackers and stackerborns. As the name suggests, the former were all revoked citizens from the outside who were forced to migrate to the Stacks by the government. Stackerborns, in contrast, were the children to first generation or second generation (so on and so forth) citystackers. Citystackers, depending on their age when first migrated, already had some level of education or trade skill. Second generation stackers would often learn whatever they could from their parents, but would still be massively less skilled. Patton, for instance, was a second generation stacker and learned how to read, basic math, and cooking from his parents; which he later passed on to Virgil and the twins to the best of his abilities.

Since he had never met his parents, probably having died in that stack collapse when he was a child, Virgil didn’t know what generation he was. He’d be lying if he said he’d never wondered if his parents had worked at a tinker shop before coming here. That would explain the odd innovative skill and quickness to learn that no stackerborn should possess. For all he knew, he could be city born.

His fist tightened at the thought.

 

…

 

The marketplace shined brightly with vibrant colors that rivaled the miniature garden in his room. Blue, silver, gold, red and green all danced across the streets in small lights and shiny orbs on the trees and street posts. The last time he had been to the market similar decorations had littered the area as well, but a plethora more had been added since then. It was all so beautiful, and wondrous. 

Walking side by side, the tracks of their footsteps revealing the dirty sidewalk underneath the browned snow, Patton and Jamie accompanied each other on a trip to gather supplies to restock the manor on various items. Being smaller in stature and shape, Jamie shivered much more jarringly than him, so they walked fast with purpose and intent. Yet, Patton could not help but slow at the beauty.

Shop after shop they went to gather new cleaning supplies, soap, sponges, among other things from Jamie’s list. As they walked away from the supplies store to the grocery outlet Patton couldn’t stop himself from asking the question that had been burning in his brain for a while now.

“What is all this for?” Patton asked his companion, gesturing to the colorful pieces. Jamie followed the scope of his arm and told him that it was in celebration of a yearly holiday called Christmas. Patton asked what Christmas was, which appeared to surprise Jamie, and he explained that it was a day where loved ones gave each other gifts, and those who were religious celebrated their God. Apparently it was the biggest annual celebration, yet no one had mentioned it at the manor. “Will we be celebrating at the manor?”

Jamie shook his head and said, “The young master doesn’t care too much for the holiday. Us servants are given a day off though.” In two days.

Patton wanted to ask more on the subject but felt like he shouldn’t. Jamie offered that he celebrate with his sons and buy them gifts instead, and Patton eagerly agreed. 

After the groceries had been obtained and paid for, Jamie took Patton to a local toy store to search for potential presents. The toys there were all so numerous and diverse. In the Stacks children only played with sticks, stones, and straw or cloth dolls. Here there were plushies, wooden cars, metal trains that moved on their own, strange puzzle boxes, and so much more. Patton felt slightly overwhelmed by it all.  Peering around the shelves, Patton shifted his gaze around the toys. Soon a stuffed, pink monkey stood out to him as something Emile would enjoy. Not too long afterwards he noticed a plastic sword that would definitely entertain Thomas. Pleased with his choices Patton walked to the cashier to make his purchase.

The only holiday they had back in the Stacks was the Day of Purple Blood, and while the origin of the day was cruel and dreary, the current sentiment was sweet. It was sort of like the opposite of Christmas, where instead of giving gifts, people gave thanks for what they currently had, or remembered what had been good and was gone. Emile would always celebrate his one straw doll, while Thomas would celebrate the rocks and sticks he found around their bus home. 

Virgil never cared to much for the holiday, claiming that it took away from the day’s true meaning, but every year since he had adopted him he’d always be thankful for their little put-together family.

While the Day of Purple Blood was a nice and large celebration, Christmas also sounded like a wonderful way to show love to family and those who were close. Patton wondered why Logan wasn’t fond of the day. It was true that the man was rather stoic and often came off as if he held no emotion whatsoever, but Patton knew just how kind and generous he could be. Thinking back to all he had done for him in the short couple of months he had been under his employment, perhaps he was too generous.

As he went to the register he passed a small cart. With closer inspection he realized that the cart was full of small stones. These stones were different from the ones found on the riverbank or in the bushes; these ones weren’t rough, jagged, or grey. These stones were all polished, clean, and colorful. One stone in particular stood out to him in the corner of the cart. A rectangular blue stone. Dark, like Logan’s eyes. Patton snatched it up and held it under the light. He continued to the cashier, the stone in his palm.

 

…

 

The searching application hadn't rung with any positive matches above eighty percent in the past two days, oddly enough, which meant that Roman was able to catch up on sleep and be more energized at the office and get more work done. That was a good thing considering that Christmas was in two days. He didn’t have the day off but they were allowed to come in an hour later so parents could spend the morning with their families. Roman planned to take his abuela to breakfast that morning.

Diana came to request a folder of completed work that had to be turned in to go to committee that afternoon, and then dropped off even more paperwork for him to look over for verification. She reminded him of his meeting with Selene and Brian in twenty minutes in Meeting Room 502. As she walked out of his office she was almost ran over by an intern who hurriedly following after another assistant.

The government office had become quite hectic as it apparently always did around this time. They were reaching the two week mark until Logan had to go back to the Senatorial Summit so much had to be done while he was still here and able to confirm it with the council himself. Since they lost both their Senator and Deputy Senator during the summit, the Secretary of the Province stepped in as acting head of the Council and primary official, as it had been written into their constitution, which just so happened to be Brian Lee, the man he was about to meet with in less than half an hour. 

Although Roman didn’t hold any personal grudge against Brian, he didn’t entirely agree on his stance on the current policy. He was too relaxed with how he conducted his work and at times appeared overly indifferent about his position. Then again, the same could be said about Roman. Despite his disapproval of his demeanor Roman respected him as his senior Cabinet Member, chosen before his predecessor was voted out by Logan and the Council due to inciting policy gridlock.

The constant running around was making him dizzy, the repetitive document after document after document was drilling holes into his brain and leaving him feeling drained. Roman missed being a police officer.

He and Talyn had been keeping in contact as the investigative team was being put together. Roman knew that they preferred to work alone, but this was a high risk case that could take months, even over a year, of undercover work to complete; back up was a necessity. The police chief was the one assigning their partners, still upset about having them chosen to lead the investigation in the first place. Roman worried slightly that they may get in Talyn’s way, sort of like how he did when they first worked together. 

Talyn notified him over private message that the team had been organized the night prior, now they simply had to go through a quick training, debrief, and then they’d be sent into action. They’d be disappearing off the map for quite a while. Roman won’t be able to contact them due to the risk of being discovered while on the job.

Later that day Talyn sent him a picture of them on their way to get their hair dyed. A few hours later they sent a coded message. It took him a few minutes to crack it.  **It’s Black!** They were already getting into character.

Diana ran back in to hand him more folders and announced that his meeting was in less than ten minutes, meaning he should head over at that moment if he were to make it on time and look good in front of the other cabinet members.

As Roman walked into the elevator to take him to the next floor down he passed a freckled man carrying an empty dish. He looked out of place, yet right at home.

He thought about what gifts he should get for his abuela and Talyn. Abuela adored chickens, having grown up on a farm with her  papá before she came to university here in the city and met his abuelo, so perhaps he should find her a nice wall decoration for her to put in the kitchen. Talyn was rather minimalistic so getting gifts for them was harder. A gift card to a local eatery should be good enough.

Fleetingly he wondered what sorts of things Virgil would like as a gift.

 

...

 

The refrigerator was restocked and the cabinets were all full with food to be prepared on a later date. Once they arrived at the manor Patton and Jamie split ways to return to their individual work. It was beginning to near noon, almost time to bring Logan his meal. Patton got started on a light broth soup; a dish that wouldn’t upset Logan’s stressed stomach as he worked through the day. When the soup was finished and poured into a transfer container he gathered his own smaller lunch and met up with Ahmed in the foyer so he could be driven to the government building.

The ride was silent as usual, but also beautiful. Patton loved passing the tall buildings of the city that seemed to stretch for miles above his head without end. Unlike the stacks that loomed overhead as a constant reminder and fear, these buildings brought a spark of calmness and hope.

Ahmed parked and escorted him in, following after but staying a few feet behind at all times. There were a few others in the elevator, all well dressed and intimidating, much like Logan and Ahmed themselves. Stepping out onto the correct floor, Ahmed stayed behind as he walked to the office door, staying behind next to Jonathan. The two didn’t talk but exchanged a customary nod and sat in a mutual silence.

The room was still and quiet as per usual, but it didn’t seem so dismal anymore. The grey walls and drawn curtains were still the same, yet the room seemed to light up somehow. Patton noticed that the purple lilac he gave Logan the other day was still sitting on the corner of his desk, basking in the sunlight from a part in the curtain made just for the flower.

Logan sat hunched over his desk and rubbed at his right eye underneath his blocky glasses with a soft fist, reading a report of some kind. Hearing the door open and close he looked up and met Patton’s gaze, blue meeting hazel. Patton thought back to that stone he had bought at the shop and realized that Logan’s eyes were one shade darker.

“Afternoon Patton, how are you faring?” The senator and his boss greeted.

Patton giggled as he walked over to the coffee table to set up his lunch presentation. He was still unable to get over the unnecessarily fancy way Logan spoke.

“I’m good, you?” Patton nearly cringed outwardly at how significantly less fancy he sounded in comparison. 

“I am also well. What have you prepared for today’s lunch?” He asked walking over to the short, long table.

“Only some simple lentil soup. Sorry it’s nothing extravagant.” Extravagant was a new word Patton learned in his personal language studies—he wasn’t sure if he used it correctly.

“That’s perfectly alright, Patton. No matter what you make it always tastes exquisite.” Logan told him, placing a napkin on his lap and taking a spoon from the little bread basket he brought along.

Patton took a seat next to him and pulled out his little ham and cheese sandwich and cup of excess broth to dip it in. They sat together eating peacefully making light conversation whenever one of them had something to say. Usually once the food was finished and gone Logan would immediately stand and return to his previous work, but this time there was a hesitant pause where they simply sat on the large couch together. Patton tried to resist the urge to turn his head and look at Logan’s face to see what he was thinking, but he couldn’t resist a small glance in his peripheral. However, when he looked over, he realized that Logan had been watching him the entire time. It suddenly became aware to Patton just how close they were. 

“Why don’t you like Christmas?” He heard himself ask.

A look of surprise briefly passed his face, looking caught off guard for only a moment.

“It’s a frivolous display of sentiment. I’m far too busy to waste my time on something so childish.” His words didn’t sound like his own, as if they were a recording that had been played a dozen times over. Patton didn’t point it out and let it slide. In spite of his rather cold response Patton still wore a soft smile.

“I think it’s wonderful. To have a day to celebrate loved ones and show them how much they mean to you. I actually already got my sons gifts.” Patton chuckled bashfully, scratching nervously behind his ear.

Logan watched him do so with an eased manner, the sharp ridges of his shoulders easing slowly. Interest and intrigue filled his gaze, along with something else that Patton couldn’t name. For the second time that day Patton wondered what he was thinking about.

Whatever spell had been casted over the room was undone when the small chime of the bell told them that it was now one o’clock. Logan quickly snapped his head back and stood. Neither of them had noticed him leaning forward.

“I should get back to work.” Logan coughed looking awkwardly to the side.

“O-of course,” the shorter man, by only an inch, agreed standing up as well, Logan helping him up by the hand as he did so. “What are you working on?”

Logan paused for a moment without giving an answer, appearing to contemplate how much he should disclose about his work, or if he should at all.

“Economic policy,” he replied at last, “we’re trying to find a way to create more secure jobs.”

The opportunity practically threw itself willingly into Patton’s open arms, like a trout onto a skillet. Thus far Patton had solely been able to make side comments and suggestions that he could only hope Logan would pick up on. Perhaps now he’d actually have his chance to coach him to work in the stackers’ favor.

“Oh! I could help with that!” Patton chimed, overly cheerily. It felt faked. “I’ve studied economics so I know quite a bit.”

“I’m not too sure…”

“You don’t have to show me everything, I understand that some things can’t be shown, but I could still give pointers and suggestions. What’d ya think?”

Patton batted his eyes and pulled on his puppy dog face to try to coax him into agreement. He didn’t even notice that he had reverted back into his previous manner of speech. Again he felt manipulative and he hated it, but he had to put his emotions beside himself for now to do what was necessary.

Logan tapped his chin and closed his eyes as he contemplated the proposition, searching for something in his mind’s eye. After a couple long seconds of deliberation he let out an exhale and opened his eyes again and met his gaze.

“Alright then, but I’ll only tell you the brief summaries and broad information. Nothing too confidential.”

A symphony of trumpets sounded in his ears as relief and gratefulness, and a little guilt, filled his chest. Patton followed Logan back to his desk, pulling up a seat beside him and to figure out issues and ideas alongside him.

They went over a swift run down of a rough draft sent by the Head of Security, Secretary of the Province, and the Treasurer. There was a suggested plan to creating some sort of government building project to hire workers. Patton recognized this idea as being inspired partially by the New Deal in America during their Great Depression. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it was solid enough and wouldn’t provide enough jobs for the amount of people out of work in the city, let alone in the Stacks.

Patton recommended that Flor increases it timber trade with the neighboring nation south of them that had a significant less amount of forests. It would also be a good plan to speed up their quarry and coal industry. Logan added that he’d have to get permission from the Senate in order to do that first.

There had been a protest across the nation against the coal production as being a pollutant during the last Senator’s term which caused the industry to slow down, but at this point the jobs were more important. Logan pointed out this fact and suggested that, to ease public consciousness, the government could set up a scientific research to find a way to purify the air. There was a chance that that plan would equal government money going down the drain, but at least it would go into the hands of workers before doing so.

A reforestation project could also potentially provide a good sum of jobs, and a damn project on the coast could be used as a clean energy source to help appease the potential backlash the coal resurgence may cause.

The next hour went by quick like that, the two of them exchanging proposals, until Logan was called away into a meeting. When they parted with an awkward hand shake, feeling as if they should do something more but not knowing what, or what was acceptable, Logan escorted him out the door, holding it open for him as well. Patton noticed Ahmed sitting in the lounge area across from Jonathan. He had forgotten that he was waiting for him and he felt a little guilty for keeping him so long.

Ahmed followed closely behind him as he entered the elevator, an intense and intimidating aura. He wasn’t too sure if he was being threatening towards him or to those around him.

As the elevator went down it stopped on the next floor, and a young man about his age walked in. He had brown hair like a roasted chestnut with firm facial lines. The man nodded to him with a smile, and exited the next floor down. Patton thought he was handsome, but in a different way than Logan—-less elegant.

 

...

 

Roman worked in late that night and passed out on his couch the moment he walked into his apartment. He was lucky he even made it back at all, eyelids heavy and all. As his mind fell asleep his subconscious took over, and he let it.

Although he would later claim he wished he would’ve dreamt of everything but, the image of Virgil followed him into his dreams came as a pleasant expectation, but not as he knew him. Instead of the dirt covered, black clothed, knife wielding adversary he had faced so many times before he saw him as a gentle, clothed in a light purple T-shirt and grey pants, companion reading peacefully besides the large window of his apartment. Virgil seemed like someone who likes to read in his spare time. Roman walked up to him and offered him a coffee and a kiss on the cheek. He giggled as he did so, shoving him a little in the side with his elbow, but closed his book to show that he wanted to spend time with him. Roman sat down on the arm of the chair and ran his fingers through his black hair, no longer dyed blond or purple and left to its natural color. Practically purring at the touch he leaned in closer.

When the chime of his app woke him with an update Roman half wished that it hadn’t.

This hadn’t been the first time Roman had dreamt about Virgil, but it was the first he had ever pictured him so domestically. It scared him and comforted him at the same time, making him even more confused.

Ages ago, but not that distant, when Virgil had meant nothing more to him other than an ordinary criminal he had to take in, Roman would dream of his capture, of their fights.

Back then he hadn’t been able to see the kid as anything other than a worthless crook. Now he saw him as a crook that could turn his life around if he made the right decisions. A few years in prison could potentially clear his head and correct his mistakes. And when he was out Roman would be waiting for him. What for exactly he wasn’t sure yet.

Unlocking his phone he pulled up the app to look at the notification. An eighty two percent match. Roman hopped up before falling back down from the rush of blood in his head. 

**District One/Parks Ln/Rosa Blvd/22014**

Never before had Roman ever moved so fast—well except for maybe the Brooks case, but that was years ago. Grabbing his coat, his keys, and his gun Roman flew out the door like a leaf on the wind. The streets were empty with only a handful of cars occupying the road besides him. The digital clock on his dashboard notified him that it was half past two in the morning. Most everyone in the city was asleep now. Except for Virgil, and except for him.

City Hall. 

It was rare for Virgil to go anywhere that wasn’t a high end home or a prosperous business. Roman wondered curiously to himself as he followed the cooling trail, but that curiosity stopped once the Provincial building came into sight. 

The Johnson Monument has been defaced. Spray painted purple in a way that made it look as if the statue was bleeding out of his eyes, mouth, and ears. It was still fresh and dripping, making it look all the more real. The purple blood flowed down the body to the concrete sidewalk were a message was written with the same paint.

**_Peace Born From Murder_ **

Even though Roman didn’t know exactly who had done this infraction he had a good idea of who it could be.

His app rung again; he was a block away.

Feet pounding across the pavement, Roman ran with a disturbed conviction. Thoughts flew past him a mile a minute. Why had Virgil done this? Where is he now? What does he have to gain? A flood of emotions filled him as well, boiling over despite his attempt to hold them down. Confusion. Anger. Hope. Betrayal.

Roman had been perplexed for a while now about what it was he felt towards Virgil. With him nothing seemed so simple anymore. His basic understanding of right and wrong, good and evil, was fading and becoming blurred. He knew Virgil was a criminal, the bad guy, he  _ knew _ that, and yet he found himself hoping he truly wasn’t. His mind searches every possible reason for his actions to be excused, for there to be proof of Virgil’s good intentions, but how could this be defended.

Peace born from murder. There had to be an explanation and purpose behind that message.

All of this and more overwhelmed his mind and body, and perhaps even his soul. He could barely even register his feet moving or his chest heaving in oxygen. Block after block he ran, not for revenge, but for answers.

Then, out of the blue, a gunshot sounded.

 

...

 

Zora stood up on the neighboring building across the street the whole time Virgil worked. The spray paint had been bought off of some random dude on the street in the thirteenth district. Just one can, but it was enough to make his statement. After some deliberation Virgil decided to taint the downtown statue first, the other two could come later. 

When it came to actually deciding what to do or say was the difficult part. Virgil had so much he wanted to say about this shit and oppressive society, but he didn’t have the time or space to do that. He had to compress all of his thoughts and grievances into a simple phrase. A statement that would shake the people and make them  _ think _ for once.

He thought back to Mary. The parents he never knew. The sight of the burning grounds and the thousands of people turned into ash there.

Murderers, that’s what the city was. The countless deaths by the will of the government and the ignorance of the people were all murders. Mary may have said that it was her choice, but it was still murder in his eyes. Hoa had almost been murdered herself, and Virgil would be damned if he ever let her get that close to death again after he already forsake her once. The government and people didn’t care about them though. They were too conceited and selfish to pay any mind to the suffering of their neighbors that lived only a few miles away.

That’s when the words came to him, almost like a line in a poem or a lyric in a song. Peace born from murder. With a savage, feral grin he painted those words beneath the statue, but that wasn’t enough. Climbing up the concrete case of the bronze statue, Virgil drew lines down the man’s face, as if he were crying; out of his mouth, as if he were choking; and out of his ears, as if they had been punctured. A ghost of pain tingled at the tiny piece of his ear that was no longer there.

_ “Virgil,”  _ Zora’s static voice came in from his walkie talkie,  _ “Someone is moving towards you four blocks down. You have to change positions.” _

“Got it. I’m on the move.”

Putting the spray can into his pack, Virgil quickly cleared away from the scene, moving to the back of City Hall to that building he had used to escape from Roman all those months ago. Once he was safe on top of the building Virgil peered cautiously over the edge of the building to see who it was, Roman or Calhoun. A figure came running up and under the streetlights. It was Roman.

A smile tugged at the corner of his cheek and a sigh of relief passed his lips despite himself. Even though Roman was still an enemy, Virgil somehow felt safer knowing that it was him following after. A passing thought told him to wait on the roof and let himself be found, but he chased it away. Edging away from the ledge Virgil stood to his feet and ran his way across to the next roof, a glance over shoulder before he did.

He leaped over the roofs of the city, the snow and ice on the buildings making it tricky and dangerous. After about four blocks of traveling that way he knew he’d have to make it to the ground. Virgil knew he should notify Zora of his changing position, but the remaining anger about being given her as a babysitter in the first place led him not to. 

Finding a close by gutter downspout, slightly frozen over by frost due to the cold, that led all the way to the street below. Virgil jogged over to it and grab at the ends, heaving one leg over the edge in preparation to slide down.

A crunch in the snow on the roof next to him broke the night’s silent air. Virgil looked over in alert but the sound of a gunshot caused him to tightly close his eyes and lose his grip on the metal tubing. A bullet hit the roof directly behind where his head had been a moment before, but that didn’t matter, the damage was already done.

Losing his hold completely on the downspout and on the building, Virgil fell. Memories of the last time came flooding back and Virgil momentarily lost his ability to breath. He didn’t even notice when he hit the ground.

 

…

 

Earlier Roman had thought that he had never run faster than he had trying to find Virgil, but he was definitely a hundred times faster trying to  _ save  _ Virgil.

Since the installment of the Stacks the percentage of crime in cities, especially in the inner districts, fell drastically. Hearing gunshots and or other signs of violence was rare. So it was safe to guess who exactly made the shot instead of leaving it to the possible numerous criminals hiding in the shadows. 

Following in the direction of the blast Roman found himself besides a tall, dark building only a few blocks away from the ruined statue. He peered into the alleyway beside it, relaying back to numerous times he had met and seen Virgil in them. The snow had been particularly high because the snow blowers were unable to reach the thin ways of the alley. Although, perhaps that was a good thing, because as Roman walked near to the opening of the alley he saw Virgil, and red. 

His eyes were closed and he looked as if he stopped breathing. A great fear surged over him and nearly buckled his knee, causing him to stumble forward. Roman crouched at his side and put his head against Virgil’s chest; there was a heartbeat, small but still there. The snow had managed to cushion him just enough to save his life, but not from damage.

It was obvious that he needed urgent medical attention, but Roman was ninety-nine percent sure Virgil was a stacker, which meant that it would be illegal for him to be taken to any hospital here in the city. Roman could get in trouble for even helping him if anyone found out. However he couldn’t be left as he was, not with Calhoun close behind and his head bleeding. Roman had to act fast.

Hastily searching the space around them for Calhoun, Roman heaved Virgil up and over his shoulder and carried him away to his car. Roman kept a constant eye out for any potential night stalkers, knowing that both either Calhoun or that woman Zora could be watching. 

Reaching his car as quick as possible while carrying another body, which was surprisingly light for his age and size, Roman gently laid Virgil down in the passenger seat and buckled him in. As he drove away the feeling of being watched didn’t leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I should put the minor character death warning in the beginning of the chapter, but I didn't want to spoil it, so I put it in the tags. Also I forget the character's eye colors sometimes so if I had previously said Logan's eyes were brown, they are now blue.  
> I'm sorry, I know I promised to update faster since I'm done with my musical, but there has recently been stuff in my life I’ve had to take care of. Updates will be slow for a little while.  
> Thank you all for reading my story, and if you ever need help please talk to someone. You are all loved deeply.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while hasn't it?
> 
> Trigger Warnings: PTSD, panic attacks, blood mention, vomiting, abuse mention

Families chatted noisily amongst themselves that morning. The pit stop diner was alive with the sound of static holiday jingles that echoed from the large radio speakers, sung in a lower falsetto by a joyful sounding man; the cheers and cries of small children thrashing around in there seats, too excited to play with their new toys to sit properly; and the cling and clatter of the pots, pans, and spatulas, the sizzling stoves, and boisterous calls of the waiters and chefs from behind the counter of the open kitchen. The diner was warm with the heat of the ovens and crowded bodies, creating a perfect juxtaposition from the bite outside the front door. This diner was small but well known throughout the city for its delicious food that tasted like home. It was the pride and gem of the sixth district and the place Roman had decided to take his abuela for their Christmas breakfast.

The two of them had been planning the occasion for a while ever since Roman first found out that he’d have an hour off before work. He wished he could have had more time, but even just an hour was a blessing.

Roman had offered to drive her there but the stubborn old woman wouldn’t budge and insisted that she’d drive herself. So, when he arrived at the diner she was already there.

“Buenos días mijito, ¿Cómo has estado?” His abuela beamed once he walked up to the booth she was currently sitting at. She quickly scooted out and enveloped him in a hug, grabbing his cheeks and kissing his face all over.

“Bien bien, abuelita, por favor no en público.” Roman whined pushing her back a little by the shoulders. He didn’t really mind his abuela hugging him or showing affection when he was younger, but it grew more embarrassing as he grew older.

“Mocoso.” She pouted sitting back down. Roman followed suit and sat across from her.

It had been a few weeks since he saw her last, but that was to be expected with his occupation. Still, he didn’t like to leave her alone for too long in that house. His abuela would always tell him that she was fine, but he knew she got lonely.

They ordered their drinks and food soon after and talked as they waited, slipping between English and Spanish with little to no notice. Abuela went on about a neighbor’s rambunctious dog that she finally complained to the owner about. Roman listened in ease, happy to lend an ear while his abuela let off some pent-up steam. Although he couldn’t help his thoughts from drifting as he listened.

Two nights, one day. Twenty-eight hours in total. Roman was becoming increasingly worried the longer Virgil stayed asleep. He had been spending all his free time out of work, including his lunch break, to return to his apartment and check up on him, but always turned up with nothing. Sometimes Virgil would pull a face or make a small noise but that was as far as he had gotten.

That hadn’t been his only cause for distress however, as Roman was keeping a wide eye open for Calhoun and Zora in case they appeared to cause issue with Virgil.

When their food arrived the talking momentarily ceased, as his abuela had taught him long ago that it was rude to eat and talk at the same time, so one had to be finished first. Roman stared intently at his pancakes as he ate, lost in thought, hardly registering his hand delivering the food to his mouth or the intense stare from across the table.

“¿Qué tienes Roman?” His abuela asked softly.

“Nada,” he shrugged limply, “I’m just tired from work.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing, sweetie, you have bags under your eyes. Has something been keeping you up?”

Roman rubbed at his eyes, as if here were trying to hide any other marks of unrest and let out a half yawn half sigh.

“Like I said, just work.” Abuela squinted her eyes at him looking as if she didn’t believe it. Roman chuckled tiredly and held up his hands in defense, “I’m serious, if anything pops up, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

“Bien, you better you brat.” She huffed into her, no longer steaming, cup of coffee.

Roman smiled genuinely, pleased that he still had someone to talk to. He’d tell her everything, about his secret mission and the man that was currently passed out at his apartment, but not yet. Everything needed to be sorted out and taken care of before she could know. Roman didn’t want to be a cause for stress for his abuela, not after the heartbreak his mother had left her.

The check was soon passed to them and, after a short battle over it, Roman paid for the meal and his abuela took care of the tip. Escorting her to her car he was careful she didn’t trip or fall on any ice. With one last goodbye for now they went they separate ways. Roman watched the small buggy fade into the distance of traffic over the horizon of rolling roads.

Turning his head up to the sky Roman let his gaze be filled with the piercing white and grey of the looming cumulonimbus clouds. There was a nervous peace in those clouds, as if a storm could break out at any moment. He couldn’t help but find similarity to Virgil in those clouds. Both appeared simple and plain but boasted a disastrous potential for harm, but also for wonder and beauty. Roman wasn’t sure which he would be welcomed too when the thief awoke.

 

...

 

Despite having the option to sleep in for an extra hour more than usual Logan woke up right on schedule, just as he did every year. He washed up and dressed the same as he did everyday and headed downstairs for his breakfast right on the dot. He found that, even though his staff had been given the morning off as well, the manor still went on as usual. His meal was waiting for him on the dining table. It was eggs benedict with slices of avocado and bacon, Logan’s favorite.

The manor moved with a familiar monotone tempo. If he listened closely, Logan could hear the pacing of Ahmed upstairs conducting his rounds and making his way to the bottom floor; Elise typing away at her computer in her office on the second floor above him; and Jamie’s pitter patter of footfalls as he went around sweeping and cleaning, starting with whichever floor was on his chart for that day and making his way around. However, he didn’t hear the clang of dishes being washed and the sing song hum of Patton as he did so; although he did hear the laughter and squeals of his sons, yet they weren’t coming from their room upstairs and rather from the room down the hall.

Finishing up his meal alone, Logan stood from his plush chair and rounded the table towards the door. The chimes of the children were originating from the sitting room to the left of the foyer, the room that Logan had soon discovered was the small family’s favored room to be in. Gently, Logan leaned his ear against the door, feeling ridiculous for sneaking around his own home, and listened in. The boys were singing a peculiar song with their untrained but enthusiastic voices. Logan also soon noted that they were not singing alone, and Patton was accompanying them.

March, march, little soldier! Lead the parade!

Sing, sing, little soldier! Pray for the day!

Follow her! Follow her!

A rat and a half, we’ll make a pact.

Liberty and grace,

Anything less is a disgrace!

March, march, little soldier! Join the parade!

Logan listened in with interest to the joyful and buoyant beat and the contracting depressive lyrics of war. It didn’t take long for Logan to make a connection to the battle game the boys had played four months before and the story of the rebellion Patton had told him. It was odd that this family would now a war song that sounded to be from that time, but Patton had told him that they had lived across from a veteran, so perhaps that’s where they had learned it from. Still, it made little sense for a provincial militia soldier to teach the war song of the opposite side to future generations.

Stepping away from the door, Logan walked in and the singing stopped promptly. Patton was sitting on the sofa with his sons on either side of him, his arms around their waists, coming to a halt from the swaying they had been doing. Two poorly wrapped presents sat on the coffee table in front them. Logan quickly realized that he had interrupted the family’s Christmas morning celebration.

Although, why that song on Christmas? Where was their tree?

“Pardon me, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Logan apologized backing out the doorway.

“No, it’s alright,” Patton chimed in hopping up from his seat and rushing over before he could leave through the door, “please come and join us. You wouldn’t mind would you boys?”

Logan then looked from Patton to the twins on the couch, almost searching them for approval. Thomas was too busy fiddling with the presents on the table to pay attention to the two adults, let alone answer, but Emile gave a polite nod of confirmation. Logan still felt like an intruder, after all it was the Sanders family celebration, something the Winchesters never partook in, but the pleading look on Patton’s face made both his knees and his will weak.

Soon he found himself sitting on the couch, Emile in his lap and Thomas in Patton’s, watching the two boys unwrap their gifts. The boy in his lap was gifted a stuffed monkey of a strange pink color, and his brother beside him was given a small plastic sword. He had to admit that even though he wasn’t well acquainted with the boys he could tell that these presents well matched their personalities. Thomas, the oldest, was rather energetic and adventurous, while Emile was quieter and more tamed.

Thomas and Emile thanked their father profusely and tackled him with hugs. Patton giggled and laughed at this, welcoming the embrace openly. Logan smiled warmly at this despite the twinge of remorse in his chest. It reminded him of the time he tried to give his father a drawing he had made for him and had been pushed away because he was in the way of work. Or the time he picked a flower for his mother from the garden and got scolded for getting dirt on her dress and vanity. It reminded him of those moments not because they were similar, but because they were so different.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Patton sudden said jumping up again, “Stay here.” He practically ordered and sped walked out the room, leaving the senator alone with the two young boys. The sound of his footsteps clambering up the staircase could be heard in the distance.

Logan sat back into the couch dumbfounded on what to do in the meantime. He didn’t know what to do with the two boys while they waited for their father, small children were not a commonality in his life even though he had two currently living under his roof. However, it soon didn’t matter whether he was able to entertain the children as they both sank to the floor and began to play with their new toys together. Logan watched on with widened eyes and peaked interest as the twins played with each other, using their imagination to make a game to act out. He felt a light smile touch his face. It was oddly relaxing to watch the two boys at play.

Thinking back to when he was their age Logan never had many toys, all his stuffed animals and such had been taken away once he reached the age of five and had in turn been replaced with books, but not of his own accord. His father, Dwight Winchester, had decided that he was too old to pursue childish endeavors and should instead turn his focus on his studies to get ahead on his future career as a politician, just as his father had. By the time he was the age of ten he had studied the insides and outs of the structure of government and law. When he was thirteen, he knew just about every possible economic theory possible and the social sciences that backed them. At fifteen he had already finished all his intermedial classes and had been accepted to attend every top law school in the country. He had decided to take a two-year gap to finish regular high school, much to his father’s distaste, despite already being ahead of his classes and having no close attachments to any of the other students. Perhaps it was for the sake of a sense of normality, but Logan never really dwelled on his decision.

His childhood had been basically nonexistent, holidays and games were strongly encouraged against. It was odd now, decades later, that the same manor that had raised him so strictly could act as a leisure home for these two little boys. Such an odd juxtaposition yet welcomed. It made a sort of pride swell in his chest, as if he were purposely disobeying his father by raising the boys differently, despite the fact that Thomas and Emile weren’t his children. 

“I’m back!” Patton announced as he bounded back inside, panting slightly. Barely two minutes had passed so Logan could not fathom why he would be out of breath.

“Welcome,” Logan greeted standing from the couch, leaving the boys to entertain themselves with their game, and walked over to meet him at the door. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, I did,” Patton grinned pulling a small item out from his pant’s pocket and holding it out to him.

Logan looked at him warily with slight suspicion, but the gentle, encouraging nod Patton gave him eased his thoughts and had him reach out his hand to retrieve the item. Something cool, small, and hard fell into his palm. Logan looked down and saw a polished blue gemstone, clean designs of hued lines ran across the stone as he twirled it between his fingers.

“It’s a lapis lazuli.” Logan stated not knowing what else to say, he hadn’t received a gift from anyone besides Roman in years.

“Oh, is that what that is? It just reminded me of your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

Patton nodded, smiling sheepishly but kindly, “Your eyes are really dark, but when light hits them you can see specks of blue. If only you weren’t in such dark rooms all the time.” He chuckled a little to himself, unaware just how much what he had done meant to him.

Gifts were a rarity, and any he did get were always to serve a purpose, not because someone bought it with genuine intent or because they thought he’d like it. Roman was an exception but they had known each other since college and the gifts he usually received were ridiculous books or a pen with a funny phrase he found while window shopping. Somehow this little stone meant so much more.

Logan hadn’t cried in years, and he wasn’t going to now, but the swell of emotions that tugged at him in that moment almost tipped him over the edge.

“Thank you.” He choked out quietly, barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you like it. I know it mustn’t compare much to all the other things you own-”

Logan shook his head and cut him off. He didn’t care about all the frivolous luxuries he owned; they didn’t matter. Nothing else he in his possession could compare to the one little stone Patton had bought him simply because he wanted to. Logan ran a thumb over the lapis smiling.

“Let me take you out to dinner.” Logan said suddenly lifting his head to look directly at his chef.

“H-huh?”

“I’d like to show you my thanks for your generosity, but also think of it as a Christmas gift.”

“Sir- I mean Logan, that’s too much to ask in return for a rock!” Patton incredulously insisted, gesturing wildly with his hands and arms. Logan smiled gently, reached out his hands, and stilled the man’s shaking palms in his own.

“You aren’t asking, and I won’t force you to go if you do not want to, but it would please me if you would so honor me your evening.”

Patton opened his mouth to say something but froze and shut it tight quickly. A moment passed and he opened it again and closed it again. He did this several times over, flapping his lips wordlessly as he tried to slowly process a response.

Logan would have found amusement at the sight if he hadn’t felt a stinging regret at having suggested in the first place. He soon realized that he had made the other uncomfortable and swiftly acted to correct himself. Holding back a sigh he let go of his hands and took a step back, ignoring the way the tip of his fingers snagged onto the grasp as he pulled away.

“You do not have to if that’s what you wish-”

“No!” Patton spoke up hastily, suddenly, surprising Logan into silence. “I-I mean, I do want to go It’s just that- I, I want to go.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion as the reply left him partially perplexed as to whether Patton was truly comfortable attending dinner with him. It wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had shared a meal with each other alone, so that couldn’t be what was making the younger man uneasy. Perhaps it was the fact that it would be their first-time meeting together purposefully outside of a work relation. Of course, the two of them had spoke about subjects outside of their avocations, but those meetings were almost always by coincidence and had never been planned. It could be that Patton simply didn’t desire to spend anytime with him outside what was required out of contract.

Logan pushed that thought out of his mind to save himself from the depressive line that came with it.

“Alright,” Logan said, taking another step away towards the door, “then I shall see you this evening.”

“In a few hours actually. I still have to bring you your lunch.” Patton pointed out with a grin, returning to his normal self.

Logan huffed a short laugh, at that, indeed he had forgotten about. Exchanging goodbyes with the man and his two sons he made his way out and prepared his way to leave to the office; the sooner he arrived the sooner he’d leave. A merry feeling filled his body not at all related to the season.

 

...

 

A terrible pain pounded and struck viciously against his skull, creating waves of throbbing pain that shook him into the waking world. A moment of unawareness passed, unsure of whether he was dead or alive stabbed his mind with a dizziness that nearly caused him to faint once more. His surroundings were shrouded in darkness, the air was stiff and hot and felt like rocks in his lungs. A crushing weight pushed down against his shoulders and pinned him into the cold dirt below him. There was a wetness at the top of his scalp that began to trickle down his face and over his eyes, further blinding him.

He didn’t know how he got there. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know who he was.

_ “Help!”  _ He shouted into the void, unsure if anyone was even there to hear him.  _ “Help!” _

Long stretches of nothingness passed with no movement or sound. He tried to move and free himself from the darkness, but the weight on his back kept him in that spot. He kicked out his feet and pulled with his arms, wiggling and thrashing, but it was all for not. He tried to call out again but was still left unheard.

_ “Someone!” _

His throat burned and felt cracked as he realized he was severely parched. He didn’t remember the last time he had any water, because he didn't remember anything about himself.

_ “Please!” _

Fear and anxiety clawed at him from the inside out and struck him with such desperation that he began to move more desperately. He ignored the sharp pain that struck his back as he felt the weight he could now recognize as metal pierce his skin. The more he struggled the more it cut him and made him bleed. After a while it became too much for him too handle and he collapsed back in on himself in exhaustion and agony.

_ “Save me! _

Virgil flew awake in a hot sweat that clung to his skin and clammed him up, gasping for air as the memory of pressure and pain made his breath laborsome. The memory, his first memory, stuck to him like a shackle that could not so easily be cut through by simply waking up. It had been years since he last dreamed of that day, but it was still glued to him like an adhesive. He did not want to relive that horrid event, but it came flooding back into his mind’s eye before he could put up any barriers to stop it. He could still feel ghosting pain of the day in the back of his head.

A frightful rumble wrecked the earth and startled many from their sleep. It was early morning, and the sun had not even rose. Screams carried through the wind and warned the stackers of the tragedy. People ran out to see what had caused the commotion to stir and saw that a stack, the fourth tallest one, had toppled over from corrosion at the base. Everyone scattered to search for and help the survivors, although many knew that there would be few.

After hours of work they thought they had found everyone and began to clear away the wreckage to scavenge for what could be used for new building material. The movement had caused a young boy to stir. That boy being him.

Trapped under feet of rock and metal he called for help, but his hoarse voice was too quiet for anyone to hear. An hour passed, maybe two, that he kept screaming and crying for salvation; but no one heard. Eventually, as his strength began to wither, he gave one last call that alerted a woman.

Once he was out and safe the adults left him, each of them unable to care for a child or to add another mouth to their family. The boy didn’t know his name or where his parents were. After the adults failed to find his parents, they told him they had most likely died.

For the next month he wandered around and begged for a family to take him in but was rejected every time. Occasionally a good family would spare him a piece of bread or a bit of clothing, but they would never let him stay with them for more than a day or so.

After awhile he learned that in this world it was every person for themselves.

He didn’t know his age but based on the children around him he guessed he was about six years of age. He didn’t know his name, but in overhearing conversations around him he decided he liked the name Virgil and decided he’d be called that.

Virgil turned onto his side and curled into a tight ball under the sheets. He didn’t like to think of his life before he had met Patton as there was nothing worth remembering. He had no memories of his parents to think of, he wasn’t even sure if he even had them in the first place, and there were no sweet moments of him bonding with other children since his feral nature had scared them all away. All there was to think of were the times of sleeping in boxes, swiping rotten bread from stands, and being beaten over the head and shoulders with sticks when he was caught. Living alone and raising himself had been cold and cruel. If he had a bronze coin for every time he had thought that he was going to die, then he’d be well on his way out of the Stacks by now and far away from Damien and his influence with his debt paid off.

He sighed and dug his face further into the pillow, wanting to carry on with these thoughts no longer and return to his nap.

Wait a minute.

This wasn’t right, he didn’t own a pillow and Damien’s were a lot softer than these. These sheets also weren’t right, Damien owned silk and Virgil didn’t have any at all. The bed was also wrong. Too soft and large to be his own, but not soft or smothering enough to belong to Damien. If he wasn’t in his cargo crate or in Damien’s bed, then where the hell was he?

Virgil’s eyes snapped back open and he shot up into a sitting position on the strange bed before the throb in his brain pulled him crashing back down into the cushion of pillows. The pain was too strong and present to simply be a memory from over a decade ago, Virgil realized. He was injured, in a place he was unfamiliar, and had no memory of how he got there.

As he was attempting to pull himself together and figure a way out of his entanglement a distant sound of a door opening and closing lightly shook the room he was in. Like a flash of lightning, or the thunder of a bullet, Virgil recollected being up on a roof and hearing a gunshot that had caused him to lose balance and fall from the building.

At that enlightenment, questions began to surface in his mind. Who shot at him? Was it the man named Calhoun that Roman had told him about? Where was Calhoun now? Is he the one who kidnapped him? Why wasn’t he dead yet? What was he going to do to him?

The clack of leather soles against hardwood vibrated through the space outside the door and was closing in on the room he was currently in, approaching quickly. In fear, Virgil pressed himself up against the headboard of the bed, kicking his way out of the red velvet blankets. The footsteps crescendo and then fell to a sudden rest as the pianissimo of the door handle turning and the mezzo piano of the door being pushed open.

Virgil stood up besides the ache in his head sending his vision into a dizzy blur. The figure at the door was male but he didn’t bother to look any further before he bounced up at ran away into the corner, his heart beating so fast and so hard that he was almost certain that it would break out of his chest at any moment. The man looked at him in shock, his eyes shining brightly against the shadows casted against the rest of his face from the drawn curtains.

“Virgil,” The man spoke, “you’re awake.”

In his panic and fear he was unable to recognize the owner of the voice despite him sounding as if he should. The man stepped forward tentatively, but it was enough to scare Virgil into moving again. He sprinted to the other side of the room looking for a way out but was trapped with his only exit blocked by the stranger.

“Virgil, it’s me!” The man said calmly trying to ease his fright. It didn’t work and Virgil pressed his back harshly into the wall as the man moved closer. “It’s Roman.”

Roman. Virgil recognized that name and the emotions attached to it. It was enough to keep him running, but not from breaking down in terror. Roman. He knew that name, he knew that face. He had tried to kill him at one point.

Overwhelmed both emotionally and physically Virgil crumbled to the ground and shook violently. His heart did not let up and the pounding in his head became worse. He grew sick and delirious and before he was aware of it, he was puking onto the wooden floorboards at his knees. The acidity of the vomit stung at his throat and the strain of the action hurt his stomach and chest. Virgil barely registered when Roman kneeled down beside him, but when a hand reached out to pet at his shoulder he flinched away out of habit.

An undetermined amount of time passed that he sat there heaving up the emptiness of his stomach, a splotch of blood appearing at one point. Once he was finished and was given time to catch his breath, he was exhausted and worn out. His vision grew black and the world spun around him as he slipped back into unconsciousness. The feeling of arms around his shoulders being the last thing he remembered before he lost himself.

 

…

 

The days of work in his government office usually passed in haste as the triannual summit approached nearer, however this day in particular would not move as quickly and went as slowly as a snail up a steep incline for Logan. Perhaps it was because he had something to look forward to after he was done, and the universe thought it funny to be cruel. The slow monotone ticking of his clock peeved him and riled up his composure to impatience. He was perplexed by his disposition as he had never acted in such a way before, not even as an adolescent. Logan yearned for the hours to make haste so that he could leave as soon as possible.

Yet, when the time came for Patton to deliver his lunch at half past noon, Logan caught himself taking thanks for the sluggish pace. So, of course, Patton fell ill with a small stomach ache and was forced to turn in from their meeting much sooner than customary. Logan wasn’t superstitious in the least, but the piling inconveniences had him cursing the universe around him for his misfortune.

Hopefully, if his luck turned around, and the odds were in his favor, then his chance of having a peaceful evening wouldn’t be ruined as well.

Logan wasn’t sure what it was that was causing him to act so out of character; be it the opportunity to share his holiday evening with someone for a change, or specifically who he would be spending it with. It was quite ludicrous to be so giddy over a simple dinner, after all they eat together on a common basis, but it still put a warm feeling in his chest. Logan couldn’t determine what it was exactly he was experiencing; it was as if he had suddenly come down with the flu whilst being perfectly healthy. It was comforting, and terrifying all at the same time. The only thing he knew for certain was that his feelings were tied inexplicably to Patton.

He almost felt like taking a break from his duties to search for a probable explanation on his tablet.

A notification from his favorite online newspaper, FYI News, then appeared at the top of his screen once it was unlocked, stumping him before he could begin his ridiculous search. The headline read:  **Mysterious Terrorist's Message Strikes Unrest in The Citizenry** . Logan clicked on the article.

_ Late in the night two days before the Christmas holiday a mysterious person(s) decided to strike fear into the hearts of the city during this usually cheery season. The unidentified person has left police stunted on the possible motives of their loud statement, which has since led to the beginning anger of the local citizens. _

_   “I’m a mother of three and an editor downtown, so naturally seeing such a horrible thing on my way to work in the morning had horrified me. I’ve tried my best to keep it from my kids, they’re confused and scared too, I have to be strong for them, but I don’t think I feel safe knowing there’s people like this out there.” Said Amelia Sokolov, editor for Hollyberry Productions. _

_   The words ‘Peace Born From Murder’ has caused an unease in the city and doubt it its leadership. However, this isn’t the first such occurrence of the people not trusting their government, as the past months long terror of the spur of home and business invasions, all believed to be the work of a single person or group, has long since caused a decline in trust. _

_   The next move is up to the public leaders; however, many doubt their competence and have even been calling Senator Winchester’s capability for his office into question and- _

Logan stopped reading and closed out of the article, pushing his tablet a little way away and leaned back into his chair. He took of his glasses to rub over his exhausted eyes, pausing on the bridge of his nose and letting out an exasperated breath of air.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the message had freaked him out as well. He suspected the messenger may have been referring to the institution of the Stacks and the Purple Rebellion’s massive death count, and if that was the case then he’d have practically no idea how to satiate the terrorist.

Ever since he was first elected in the last running season for his region his abilities were questioned and speculated. Many of his opponents thought he was too young to be a senator and that he didn’t have the experience necessary for the position. Logan had been able to work through the troublesome partisanship for the most part, but once these issues with the city’s protection arose, something he had promised in his campaign and agenda, his rivals had been crawling out of the woodwork to challenge him and paint him in a negative light in the media. His running had been controversial, since he advocated for policy that went against what the traditionalists wanted, but he had been able to scoop up just enough votes to win by a hair’s length. Despite that his enemies were still rather numerous and often out spoke his supporters.

Logan had dedicated years of his life to get where he is now, and he plans to dedicate years more to protect and benefit his province; and now he wants to find a way to bring the Stacks into that benefit somehow. But with how things are it doesn’t seem like he’ll be in office past the next regional campaign.

“Excuse me sir,” Jonathan’s voice spoke through the intercom, “You have an incoming message from Senator Martha Quinn.”

Logan shook from his thoughts at that, a small noise escaping his mouth at being pulled back to reality from his anxious and disturbed thoughts.

It had been months since he had last spoken with Martha, and, considering the conversation they left at, he wasn’t too eager to speak with her so soon.

“Alright, connect her through.” He buzzed into the intercom and was met with an incoming call a moment later. He accepted the call and sent the video feed to his tablet. In less than a second, he was met with the sharp face of the fellow senator from Ivy Province.

“Good afternoon Miss Quinn, or should I say good evening.” It was much later over in her time zone. In fact, she should have left her position and turned in by now. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Martha laughed heartily and leaned closer into the screen, placing her chin in her palm, smirking at the camera.

“Same as ever I see Lo Lo, so serious. Keep scowling and your face will get stuck that way.”

A surge of vexation pricked at him from Martha’s patent flirtation that she had a strong tendency to wield in his presence.

“What do you need?” He asked cutting to the chase.

“I don’t need anything darling Lo, it’s what you need and what your willing to offer. Have you thought over my proposition?”

Indeed, he had, and he wasn’t sure if he was willing to agree with her corrupted terms. The offer she had proposed to him was to embezzle funds from his citizens annual tax to support her campaign coming soon that next year. Of all the things she could have requested in exchange for the passcode to the underground archives, what he had been presented with was not such an awful ultimatum, but it went against his moral code. Logan wanted desperately to discover the truth behind the National Government’s T.S.E.I cover up, but protecting and benefitting his people should come first. They were terrified, hungry, and pinched for money enough, they didn’t need to be stolen from. And that’s what he told her.

“Hm, strong willed as per usual.” The Ivy Senator sighed, putting her hand down on the desk in the image. Her smiled, however, didn’t waver and instead grew larger. “I can respect that, but I also respect the fact that you can’t say no to me. You see, if I were to tell someone that you were trying to break into the Senatorial Archives without clearance and tried to steal confidential files, well then your career as a senator would be virtually destroyed.” Logan dry swallowed and fought to keep his face straight, not wanting to show just how much her words had unnerved him. “However, as I said, I respect your determination to aid your citizens. So, I’ll come up with another offer, but next time you won’t have a choice in the matter. See you next week Lo Lo! I’m looking forward to it.”

The call ended there, and the image of Martha disappeared from his tablet screen, but not from his mind. In his time as a politician he had come head to head with many friends and foes who challenged him, but none more so than Martha Quinn. No matter her power or her influence Logan cannot allow himself to fall victim to her. 

She had pulled one out from under him in a flash and bent him over into a dip. Martha had always been an intelligent and cunning woman who was able to bend others to her will. Logan sometimes admired that about her. Little did she know that he knew all the kicks on how to go toe to toe in a battle for dominance. If she was going to stoop so low as to blackmail him to get what she wants, then he’ll just  have to do the same. He had one week to figure out a way to get out the suffocating grip that she held around his neck.

 

…

 

Couples and business partners spoke softly to one another in the privacy of their booths and tables that evening. The elegant five-star restaurant was quiet with the hushed whispers of the patrons and the low background music provided by a staged pianist. It was hushed and toned into a quiet lullaby. The restaurant was cool due to the expansive and open room, not too opposed from the bite outside the front door. This restaurant was large and highly popular among the upper end for its exquisite food and delightful atmosphere.

Patton could not feel more out of place. Sure, he had worked in a restaurant similar to this one, although  Pájaro Rico was a little less fancy, but he hadn’t been aloud out of the kitchen during operating hours, so he had never been able to experience what it was like for himself. Although, now that he has, he couldn’t say that he would come back any time soon.

Logan had been kind and gentlemanly the entire time from the moment he picked him up at the manor to the moment they sat down. He even allowed Patton to borrow a nice suit since he didn’t own one, and offered to help him tie his tie. Patton wanted to return that kindness and push his uncomfortableness away and have a pleasurable evening, but his hyper awareness of how dirty his face was, how dismantled his hair had been brushed, and just how much he didn’t belong there all stopped him from relaxing.

While looking over the menu for their main courses Patton’s head began to swell with the prices in front of him. Guilt began to eat away at his apatite at the fact that Logan’s money was going to waste on him. And, with all his fidgeting and nervous glances, it didn’t take long for Logan to notice his anxieties.

“If you don’t like it here, we can go someplace else.” Logan offered, setting his menu down on the table and making a move to grab his wallet and keys.

“No!” Patton shouted a tad bit too loudly, pulling eyes around the restaurant towards him and making his face flush brightly in embarrassment. “It’s fine, I want to stay here.”

Logan looked at him skeptically, obviously not believing his statement, and then the look turned into one of understanding.

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me Patton.” Patton flinched at those words. If only Logan knew just how much he was keeping from him. “You do not have to force yourself to do anything for me. I may be your boss, but I’d also like to think of myself a companion as well. If I ever make you do something you don’t want to, I’d like to know so I may correct it.”

Patton wanted to deny it and convince him that staying there wouldn’t be a bother to him, but the earnest and determined expression on Logan’s face told Patton that even if he did the other wouldn’t believe him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered remorsefully.

“Don’t be,” Logan shook his head and offered a small curl of the lips that was meant to be a smile, “I offered to take you to dinner as a gift. It would be a poor gift if you couldn’t enjoy it.”

Logan gave his deepest apologies to their server for leaving without ordering anything, gave them a, rather large, tip, and escorted Patton to the front closet to grab their coats. When they climbed back into the car Logan turned to him and requested that he choose the restaurant this time, apologizing for not doing so at the start. The issue with that however was due to Patton never actually having been to a restaurant before so he was not able to give any suggestions. Although, there was a specific type of food that Patton heard of and never had the chance to have himself.

The look he got from Logan at his suggestion was nearly comical at how wide eyed and stupefied he appeared---apparently Logan had never tried it either.

Soon the two of them found themselves sitting in Bowling Alley Pizzeria, which had one of the highest reviews on Logan’s cellular telephone and was open late on holidays. Patton and Logan sat together at the back of the restaurant in a small booth, stickier and less comfortable then the one at the previous five-star restaurant and ordered waters and a simple vegetable pizza since it sounded like the healthiest option to Logan.

Patton felt too dressed up this time, but still more at home. The relaxed and inviting atmosphere coupled with the loud music put him more at ease compared to the previous restaurant.

The pizza had come ten minutes later, piping hot and covered in grease. Logan muttered under his breath about calories and fats and Patton smiled at him, amused by his over the top concern for nutrients. It was indeed oily, but not too much so. Patton was enamored with the texture of the pizza, loving the thick crust and heaving coating of cheese mixed with light toppings. A glance up from his plate to Logan’s face told him that he too enjoyed it, although he probably wouldn’t admit that since he still groaned about the possible heart disease and or weight gain.

As the clock on the wall above them ticked away, and more and more slices of the pizza were eaten, the youth down at the alleys began to fill in. Patton wondered where their parents were and if they’d have a ride home in the cold weather.

The two of them chatted away over their meal, staying away from topics regarding their work. It felt like Patton was getting to know Logan as he was, not as a boss or a Senator of intimidating social status that far outclassed his own. Logan told him about his fondness for keeping schedules and planners, enjoying living his life by the book as he planned it out on paper to make sure none of his time was wasted. Patton, in turn, shared that he was the opposite and loved to take life as it came to him, enjoying surprises. Logan chuckled and agreed that that sounded like him. Patton then learned about his love for poetry, when he asked to read some of his work Logan disclosed that he only read it and in return asked what his favorite activity was. After some thought he said that he loved to learn.

“Oh?” Logan mused, “Any specific subjects?”

“Well mostly economics, but everything and anything in general. I didn’t really have an education-” Patton paled as he said that, realizing that he had said too much.

Logan raised his eyebrows in interest and asked, “Really? Why was that?”

Thinking quickly, Patton tried to figure out just how much he could say to make it sound believable while not drawing too much attention to his background. Telling Logan that his father had died due to violence and disease in the Stacks, leading to him taking care of his mother as her grief ate away at her health was impossible. So, he gave the blanketed version.

“My parents had a hard time when I was younger, so I had to help. Not enough money or time to send me to school, but my mom did teach me how to cook. That’s why I followed a career in it, since it was the only thing I knew how to do.”

A heavy pause followed and the nervousness in Patton’s stomach began to swell as he realized he had said the wrong thing. He jumped to take his words back but was halted when a gentle hand laid atop of his. Patton flinched in surprise and peered up at Logan’s face and noticed the softer expression that had taken over the previous one. His heart beat a little faster in his chest and he hoped that Logan couldn’t hear it pounding.

“I’m sorry, Patton.”

Patton’s eyes narrowed and widened simultaneously, left confused at what Logan had to feel sorry about when there was nothing he could have done so long ago.

“Don’t be,” He grasped the hand that laid over his, intertwining their fingers accidentally, “It’s in the past. I’m just happy my sons can go to school so they can have the option I didn’t.” The option that no one did where they came from. The option he failed to give Virgil.

Patton offered him a smile, but it wasn’t returned. He exhaled soberly, knowing where Logan’s thoughts were going, and although that should have made him happy, he only felt regretful for bringing it up in the first place.

Trying to lighten the mood again, Patton suggested they go play the same game that all the “kiddos” were down below them. Logan looked over at the teenagers and young adults rolling heavy balls down lanes skeptically, not finding the appeal in such a silly game. Although after a few minutes of pleading he gave in and walked to the shoe rental to purchase a single gaming hour and the appropriate shoes, grumbling about how unhygienic sharing shoes was.

It didn’t take long for the previous humor and enjoyment of the night to return as both Patton and Logan failed spectacularly to succeed in the game. That was too be expect when this was the first time either of them had played the game. Patton’s rolls would constantly go into the gutters while Logan would usually get one or two pins or get so close only to have his bowling ball go into the gutter at the last moment. Their terrible playing had caught the attention of the younger patrons, but Patton didn’t mind. Logan did on the other hand and would be quick to blame their loud chatter as the reason he missed a pin.

In the end the score was five to eleven with Logan securing a win, which, according to a young man in the audience, was a terrible score to win by. Logan became flustered and marched back to their seats to grab their coats so they could leave. Patton laughed and tried to tell him that a win was still a win and he had done his best considering he had no experience. Logan stayed quiet for a minute and pouted, although he’d disagree with that later, and then decided that he wasn’t finished and wanted another try.

One more match later the score improved to ten to twenty, which brought a wide smile to Logan’s face that made him look several years younger. Patton felt proud that his own score improved, but he was especially happy for Logan, glad that he had finally unwind from the strict persona he wore all the time.

Once they were done they turned in their borrowed shoes and grabbed their things to go back home. The two walked out and back to the car hand in hand. Both fully aware and warm but saying nothing, secretly relishing in it.

 

…

 

Snowflakes fell upon the world by the millions in increments too numerous to count with the naked eye. They danced with the wind and sang in the breeze creating the most wonderful symphony of crystalline silver to witness. The chill flowing in from the open window nipped at his ears and nose as he sat at Virgil’s side, waiting for him to wake.

Roman had been more than a bit surprised when he came home during his lunch break to find that Virgil had woken from his short comatose while he was away and was more shocked that he hadn’t recognized him. Granted the room had been dark and he was most likely still out of it from being asleep for over thirty-three hours, but the look of terror he had worn as Roman tried to approach him had struck him deeply.

After Virgil had passed out in his arms Roman had laid his back down in the bed and moved to clean up the mess made on the floor. Once he was done, he went to check on Virgil to make sure his scare hadn’t made his state any worse. In the end the fiasco had indeed given the man a small fever. Roman was running out of time on his break so he couldn’t properly treat him, so he stacked on more blankets over his body and placed a cool towel over his forehead before he went back to work.

It had been difficult to focus on anything while at work when Virgil was literally resting in his guest bedroom at his apartment. But he managed through it and was able to complete his work early and return as soon as he could.

After months of chasing after Virgil he had at last cornered and captured him, in his apartment no less. Yet, he hasn’t turned him over to the authorities. Roman chalked it up to Virgil not being in a good enough state of health to be moved and defenestrated the thought.

Currently he sat next to Virgil to monitor his well being; changing the towel on his forehead, wiping off the collected sweat from his back and chest, and opening or closing the window if he got too hot or cold. Dinner was already prepared and waiting on the stove to be consumed, although Roman doubted Virgil could move to the dining area to eat. Then again, he did run around the room when he first woke up, but then he immediately puked and fell back asleep. Roman would most likely have to bring him his dinner in bed, if he woke up that is.

With the passing of the midnight hour it had then been three days that Virgil had been staying with him, if “staying” was what this was. That also meant that it had been three days since he had last eaten to his knowledge. Virgil’s stomach had to have been beyond empty by now, and the vomiting probably made it even worse. Roman thought about waking him up but decided against it, not knowing if he even could.

The cold breeze grew colder, blowing ice into the guest room. Virgil began to shiver under his three blankets and announced to Roman that it was time to close the window again. He was a little thankful that the young thief had grown cold, since he had long since been freezing in his large coat.

A small rustle from the bed caught his attention as he closed the large window. Virgil would often shift around in bed without waking, but when Roman turned his head to look over, he saw that the other was sitting up in bed again staring in his direction. Roman opened his mouth to let him know he wasn’t a threat, but before he could say anything, Virgil jumped up and fell out of bed on the side opposite to him.

“Virgil wait!” Roman called out gently, turning on the bedside lamp. “It’s just me.”

“R-Roman?” Virgil forced out, standing up and backing away until he hit the furthest wall. His voice was gruff and groggy from being unused, “What are you- I, where am I?”

“You’re in my apartment. You head was hurt pretty badly, and I couldn’t take you to a hospital, so I brought you here.”

Roman tried to approach him slowly, but Virgil only slide further away along the wall, so Roman stayed where he was.

“Why would you- what happened to my, where’s Calhoun?” Virgil spewed rapidly, a shaky hand running through his blond hair and bunching at the roots. His eyes flickered around the room briskly, taking in his surroundings, before focusing back on Roman across the room separated by the guest bed.

“I didn’t see Calhoun when I found you. As far as I know he doesn’t know where we are.”

Virgil’s shoulders lowered a little at that, a moment of relief filtering across his face, but then regained their stiffness as quickly as it had gone. His expression hardened as he, again, looked around the room and, as if noticing something there, began to edge towards the dresser to his right. Roman followed his line of direction and noticed he was going for the small decorative, metal statue, most likely for a weapon.

“So why bring me here then, and why am I shirtless? You some sick fuck?”

“No!” Roman denied heatedly, his cheeks pinking at the crude accusation. “Goodness- I couldn’t take you to the hospital because I  _ highly  _ doubt you have an I.D or insurance, and the shirt’s because I was treating your wounds. It’s on the nightstand beside you.” He gestured at the bandages wrapped around both Virgil’s head and his torso and pointed to the black shirt across from him.

Virgil looked down at himself and seemed to notice his wrappings for the first time, probably too overwhelmed and confused to notice them until now. Glancing shortly over to where Roman directed him he noticed his neatly folded shirt as well and cautiously made his way to grab it, keeping himself turned towards Roman the entire time. Once he was dressed, he backed up into his previous spot, passing over the metal statue.

“So, are you gonna keep me here or…?”

“Are you gonna try to leave with those wounds?” Virgil made a step towards the statue, Roman held his hands up. “Look, I know you don’t really trust me, but you should at least try to rest for a day or two before you go. You look like shit.”

“Charming,” Virgil snorted.

A beat or two of silence drag on heavy with words and questions still left unsaid. Virgil turned his eyes a little at the floor but kept a rigid stance. Roman sighed inwardly knowing that it had idiotic of him to expect Virgil to agree to staying with him right away, or at all. He couldn’t truly blame him; they weren’t friends and their entire relationship was screwed up because of their affiliations. Even so, Roman hoped that they’d be able to put all that aside for now, at least until Virgil healed.

The wounds on Virgil’s body were much more excessive then Roman could have ever imagined, and most of them didn’t even appear to have come from his fall. The thief was covered in bruises, scratches, scars, and old fractures that were poorly treated and didn’t heal quite right. Roman may not be a doctor or a physician, but taking Virgil to a hospital was still impossible, so staying there to recuperate for a while may be the best thing for him. It would also keep him from trying anything in the public for a time.

His thoughts flashed back to the statue that had been spray painted the night he found Virgil.

Roman quickly shook those thoughts away.

“Well,” Virgil finally spoke after an extensive pause, “I guess… a few more hours of sleep… wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman blinked at him, surprised at his agreement to remain there. Granted it was only for a few more hours, but it was still unexpected in all honesty.

“But I leave in the morning!” Virgil declared, stomping over to the bed and jumping back in.

Roman smiled brightly, a warm feeling filling his chest from the humorous cold shoulder.

“Alright, but you need a bath first. I’ve had to deal with your stink for three days now and if I have to a moment longer, I’ll pass out-”

“Good, you old fart!”

“-Dinner will be ready when you’re done. And who are you calling old? I’m only twenty-five, what are you, twelve?” Roman sneered, daring to take a step closer.

“I’m twenty dipshit, I’m not a kid!”

“Well I’m not an old man!”

“Well you act like it.”

“Same to you.”

A frozen moment passed, the two glared at each other, and then burst into laughter. Roman held onto his gut and bent back a little as he chortled, while Virgil desperately tried to keep it back by covering his mouth with both palms.

“I’ll go run the bath,” Roman heaved in a breath, “You can borrow a pair of my pajamas for now, I don’t know if those clothes are to comfortable for you to sleep in.”

Virgil opened his mouth to say something but swiftly closed it, turning his head down. Roman didn’t ask about it and walked out from the room, giving Virgil some space for the time being.

It felt strange to have his greatest adversary in his apartment in the room that was usually reserved for his abuela or for Talyn whenever they came over and ended up passing out. Yet, it also felt a little freeing in a way he couldn’t explain. Virgil said he would leave in the morning, and yet Roman found himself wanting him to stay longer. It must be because it would mean his chance of finally detaining Virgil would slip out of his grasps once again.

That had to be it.

 

…

 

The distant sound of running water reached Virgil ears as he leaned his back up against the wall and allowed himself to slide to the floor. His brain was still pounding against his skull and giving him a migraine. His eyes felt heavy and his vision was slightly blurred. Overall his body felt like shit and all her wanted to do was go back to sleep.

However, he couldn’t stay here with Roman, it was far too risky for a multitude of reasons. For one he wasn’t sure if he could trust Roman yet, after all not long ago he was doing his darndest to put him behind bars and could very well be planning to do so still. Although, it didn’t make much sense why he hadn’t yet; even if he was waiting for him to heal there was no reason for him not to cuff him and keep him trap so he couldn’t leave, not offering to prepare a bath and make him food. It could all be for some sick satisfaction, but Roman didn't seem like the kind to do so.

Forgetting all that, there was still the huge risk of Damien. There was no doubt that Zora already told Damien all about his attack and rescue, and her possible execution for allowing it to happen, meaning that Damien now knew about Roman’s existence and would be coming for him once he was located. The expanse of Damien’s influence was massive, and Virgil doubted it would take more than a week for him to be found, and if he was discovered while staying in another man’s home then the punishment, not only for him, would be severe. Virgil didn’t know how he felt about Roman, he didn’t really like him, but he didn’t hate him either, except that he did not want to see him killed due to Damien’s excessive possessive nature and jealousy.

A fleeting thought and hope of escaping Damien was quickly crushed by his doubtful thoughts. He had to leave quickly, and not just for his safety. Although he doubted Damien would go easy on him if he returned, but he feared it would be that much worse if he didn’t. Damien would most likely put him in his cage for another two weeks, or worse, chain him to the table as he had the first and only time he had tried to run away. Virgil didn’t want to go back, but he was left with little choice. Perhaps he’d only get a few light beatings, that was if he was lucky.

A light hand knocked at the door.

“Virgil?” Roman’s calm voice called through the door, “The bath is ready when you are. It’s the door down the hall on the right. There’s a pair of clothes on the counter for you to change into if you want.”

Virgil didn’t respond and glared a little at the door. He could tell from the light spilling in under the door that Roman was still standing outside waiting for one. His childish anger and irritation caused him to stay firm with his silent treatment. After a minute went by Roman let out an audible sigh and walked away from the door. Virgil smiled a little in victory, but it didn’t feel right.

A part of him wanted to refuse any help and continue sitting on the floor or crawl into the bed and sleep, but a warm bath did sound nice considering he hadn’t bathed since late fall when it was still warm enough to do so. The best he or any stacker could do was a damp cloth that was already filthy.

Throwing his head back in annoyed acceptance, Virgil got up to his feet and padded over to the door on wobbly knees. He peeked out through the door, searching for Roman and located him in what seemed to be a kitchen, and then carefully exited and snuck his way to the hall as he had been directed. When he reached the door he realized that it was directly next to the door that led outside of the apartment.

A temptation festered in Virgil to bolt right now, foregoing his shoes and coat and simply run for a place away from here. Away from Roman, from Damien. The optioned seemed all too easy. Roman wouldn’t be able to get to him fast enough to stop him from exiting the door. Damien didn’t know where he was yet, and he’d be able to get to another city or province before he could be found.

A blond strand fell in front of his eyes and that idea died. He was branded, he couldn’t leave.

Roman had let him walk on his own to the bath knowing full well that he could simply dash. He wouldn’t have done that if he planned to hurt him. He didn’t have to leave yet.

Still, the depressed feeling of disappointment filled him and slumped his shoulders. Instead he turned his body to the door he was supposed to go to.

The room was warm and foggy with steam. The water was comfortably hot and felt heavenly against his bruised and aching body. Locating a soap bar, Virgil made sure to scrub every inch of him from his hair to his feet, wanting to feel completely clean. Although he knew he could never be truly clean with a scarred body like his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised to be faster with my updates and then immediately failed to do so, so have the longest freaking chapter in the story thus far! (and hopefully ever.) As apologizes, here are some random character facts from my notebook!  
> \- Patton is Demisexual  
> \- Logan's mother's name is Margaret  
> \- (on a sad note) Patton's mom died when he was 10  
> \- Heights: Logan is 5"11', Patton and Roman are 5"10', Virgil is 5"6', and Damien is 6"0' (and a bastard)  
> \- The months for the Summit are Jan-Feb, May-Jun, and Sep-Oct (I messed up the plot there and aciddentally wrote Logan going to the summit in october to november so I'm just gonna say the chancellor postponed it for a month)  
> \- The original plot of the story was suposed to be about steam punk pirates (wonder what happened there)  
> Sorry again for the long pause, but I can't promise normal or fast posting because Finals and AP testing is coming, so yeah.  
> I hope you liked the chapter, I put in a lot of layering if y'all noticed it, and thank so much for reading! Love ya and see you in the next update!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death threats, knives, panic attacks

It was snowing when Virgil woke up again from his most recent nap. The room he has been staying in was dimly lit with pale grey light, but he could see the figures falling from the sky through the cracks in the curtains. It’s been three days since Virgil first came out of his coma and he has, for some unfathomable reason, yet to leave. 

The apartment was empty, as it often was when he woke up from his numerous naps, as Roman was busy with whatever work it was he did. Virgil moved from his room to the couch and pressed the button on the remote that Roman had shown him to turn on the television. Virgil flicked through the channels, not settling on one, amazed with the bright and colorful pictures. He had seen televisions from a distance in the windows of stores, never able to get too close to them because it was dangerous for him to hang around on a busy street for too long. The images were so clear, it was as if the people were with him in that room.

Roman was often gone most of the time he was awake. Virgil didn’t mind being alone though and actually revealed in the peace and comfort of the solitude. He did get bored sometimes though and switching between channels was one of his favorite things to do to pass the time.

That morning after waking up however he simply felt like gazing out his temporary bedroom window and gaze down at the city. The apartment was high up, so the people below him were small dots of black and different colors. The buildings surrounding him were all a concrete grey or brick red. Despite it not being the first time that he’s seen these buildings, the new view somehow gave them a whole new charm that he never saw before.

It’s peaceful, listening to the calming sounds of the city and watching as the crowds shift below him. Virgil closes his eyes and focuses on the white noise, leaning his head against the edge of the open window, tuning his sense of touch to the icy bite of the winter wind. It was such a rare moment of tranquility that Virgil had most likely never felt before. If he stayed here long enough he may even forget all about the Stacks and Damien.

His thoughts drift to his little brothers and he wonders what they think of the city they were living in, wondering if they saw it with the same subtle beauty or with the ugliness Virgil knew truly existed there in the dark. He thought of Patton and wondered if he had adjusted to his new lifestyle yet, whether it was happier where he was, and whether he had forgotten all about Virgil.

Virgil opens his eyes and pouts at his pessimistic thoughts. Standing up from the armchair he had been resting in, stretching out his sore arms and shoulders, yawning as he did so. Softly, he closed the window and padded his way out into the rest of the apartment.

The other thing Virgil would do was snoop around the apartment. Virgil had noticed the morning after he first woke up that his tool belt filled with his knives and tools was missing from his person; he had asked Roman where it was, but the other simply smiled and said he didn’t want to get stabbed in his sleep. None of the doors were locked, however, so he was able to look in every nook and cranny.

He could tell that the room next to his was Roman’s bedroom, as it was the only other room with a bed in it. It was filled with wall art of people he didn’t recognize, and more little statues on shelves that held his name on the bottom of them. Virgil searched around in there for a good hour before he turned up with nothing important and passed out back in his designated room.

The room he searched through next was the one opposite of the bathroom, which was horribly disorganized, papers littering the ground and tacked to the wall; newspaper clippings, notes, and photos. They all seemed to be from old cases that had long been solved, if the bright green check marks drawn in permanent marker were any indication, but had been lazily left up and simply covered with the next case. Virgil was slightly overwhelmed with the chaos of that room and wasn’t sure where to start looking, or if he should at all. But he did anyway. He first looked through the desk drawers, finding only more papers and nonsense he couldn’t make any sense of. After that he turned to the filing cabinet, finding the exact same thing. Drawer after drawer, box after box, crevice after crevice, Virgil only found old paperwork that had long since lost any purpose or meaning. He wondered to himself why Roman still held onto his junk. Honestly, it only made him question even further just what kind of person Roman really was.

Virgil was about to turn away from the, somewhat creepy, photos and rummage through the office’s small closet but paused in step when his eye caught a picture tacked on the front wall. This picture was a little more blurry than all the others, and it wasn’t overly surrounded by other articles or sheets either. The lone picture almost looked a little lonely on its wall. As Virgil walked towards it the image began to clear up and he was able to recognize a hooded figure cloaked in all black, peeking out from the opening of an alley. Once he stood just before the tacked photo, face to face with the familiar figure, Virgil realized that it was a photo of him, taken when he had been caught unaware. Virgil looked to the few papers near the photo. Three cutouts of articles about him. One from when he infiltrated the Faun Museum of Science and Technology, another about his rise in home invasions written back in November, and the last one about his most recent stunt regarding the statue that the public has yet to connect back to him.

Virgil dropped the articles to the floor but held the photo tight in his grip. He had known that Roman was some kind of police officer that had been hunting him down for the past, but to what degree he hadn’t known or thought of. This, the photos and the articles, seemed obsessive. Unhealthy even. Just how many hours and sleepless nights did Roman dedicate to finding him?

And why did he suddenly throw it all away at the end when he won?

Stepping away from the wall, Virgil held on tighter to the photo as the sole thing that was keeping him grounded in all this mess. The thought that Roman would slave over finding him, for nearly five months, shook him to his core. An odd mix of emotions swarmed him, many that he couldn’t name or understand. A disgust that Roman had somehow watched him when he wasn’t paying attention; a fear of the risk Roman was taking by trying to get so close; worry if Damien found out about the existence of these articles and photo, and the possible jealousy that could become violent; an endearment that someone would spend so much time on someone as wretched as him; and a confusion about why he even bothered to waste so much energy on someone like him. 

Virgil had been hardened to emotions since he was young. Growing up with lethargic and cruel adults will do that. While being adopted by Patton did help to smooth out his hard shell, his time away from him since he helped Pat and the boys escape had shaved off all that gentle exterior and reverted him back to the cold person he once was. He may be helping those around him, like Dolores and Hoa, but that was out of guilt more than anything, it didn’t make him a good person. If anything it only made him selfish.

However, too much was developing in him too fast at that moment and it terrified him. To keep himself together Virgil could respond in the only way he knew how, the only way he felt safe; in anger. He became furious at Roman and forwent any other thought, reason, or logic and allowed himself to be filled with pure rage. He couldn’t comprehend the gentle and kind feelings he felt towards Roman, so he squashed them out with anger.

Hastily shoving the photo in his pocket, Virgil stomped out of the office and out into the living room. Foregoing his search for his tool belt, Virgil simply wanted to get out of that place immediately. He made his way for Roman’s room, planning to steal a change of clothes so he could maneuver through the crowds without standing out, but halted at the sound of the front door being unlocked and jingled open.

Roman walked into the entrance with an easy smile, his hands full with a bag of groceries, a variety of foods poking out from the top of the bag. When he walked further in and noticed Virgil standing in the middle of the room his smile grew wider in a way that caused Virgil’s chest to tighten.

The anger he had built up to such a massive and dangerous burning inferno had been reduced to a pit fire as he watched as Roman practically skipped over to the kitchen, blabbering on about making a stew to help Virgil knock out the last of his illness. Despite himself, his walls threatened to slowly come down, but his conviction kept them up. Regardless of how dorky or harmless this man appeared Virgil now knew the truth. He wasn’t to be trusted with anything he said or did. Even this lunch could be part of some bigger scheme.

Reluctantly, Virgil sighed and moved to the kitchen counter to watch him cook. He couldn’t leave now, not with Roman there, but knowing his schedule he’d be gone in about an hour. Until then he’d have to act as if nothing was amiss from the usual, Virgil would make his escape after that.

“I hope you weren’t too bored while I was out. Did you watch tv as I showed you?” Roman asked from his placement at the fridge, putting in new groceries and taking out old ones he planned to cook with.

“A little,” Virgil answered simply, sitting cross-legged on the tall stool and resting his head on his arms over the counter.

“Good, I figured you’d like the tv. Although you look as if you’d also enjoy music. I can show you how to play music from the tv next.”

Virgil made a noncommittal grunt and watched at Roman took out a slab of meat and began to chop it into small squares, moving onto cutting celery and carrots once he was done and throwing them into a pan and pot. He awed at the sight of how he turned basic ingredients into something else entirely. It was similar to watching Patton cook for him and his brothers in the kitchen of the restaurant he once worked at or back in the old wheelless bus. More than half an hour passed before a hot bowl of stew was placed in front of him and Roman joined him at his side at the counter for lunch.

The food was hot and delicious, the flavor richer than anything fathomable in the Stacks. Although Virgil couldn’t say Roman was as good a cook as Patton, his cooking was still better than anything he’s had recently.

“So where’s my belt?” Virgil questioned, shoving another spoonful into his mouth.

Roman chuckled and grabbed another spoonful himself, setting his utensil down, his bowl now empty. 

“Sorry, but as I said before, I don’t wanna risk getting stabbed with a screwdriver.” Roman stood with his bowl and carried it around the counter to the sink, dropping it in under the run of hot water to wash it. Virgil snorted and lazily threw his bowl into the sink from where he was, not bothering to walk it there himself. Roman glared at him when the action caused a splash of water to get on his shirt, Virgil smirked at him in return.

“Please, I don’t need my belt to do that. If I was determined enough I could kill you with a spoon.” He mocked leaning forward over the countertop on his stool, his voice light, and taunting.

“Good thing you aren’t very determined then.” Roman said, not looking up from the dishes, “I honestly don’t think you have it in you.”

Virgil physically and mentally recoiled at that, leaning away as his posture became more rigid and hardened. A cord was pulled inside him to an unbearable strain, threatening to break with each word he spoke. The previous peace he felt as they ate had been shattered. He didn’t believe it had even been there in the first place. The inner turmoil and rage he had been swimming in just before Roman arrive erupted inside his mind and cascaded throughout his being like lava. It took all of his strength and will not to explode and release all of it at Roman right then and there.

“What do you mean…” Virgil gritted his teeth, “I’m not determined?”

Everything he had been doing, the robberies to enlighten the fact that society wasn’t as safe as everyone thought and feed his fellow stackers; the defacing of the statue to get his disgust and hatred of the city across, all of it was because he was determined. Everything he had been doing, everything he was, his purpose and worth.

Disturbed by his shock, horror, and rage, Virgil leaped up from his stool, the piece of furniture falling and clattering down behind him, and threw his arm over the counter towards the knife holder and yanked out the largest one he could get his hands on and shoved it before Roman, staring at him with a deadly glare. Startled by the sudden outburst, Roman backed away to the far side of the kitchen next to the refrigerator, looking back at Virgil in fear.

“Do you honestly think I can’t kill you right this second?” He shouted, his voice shaking more than his hold on the knife and counter edge. “Do you think I’m some weak bitch that needs protection? That I can’t take care of myself, or that I don’t have what it takes to protect what I care about? Is that what you think of me, huh, Damien?!” 

Virgil’s voice cut off once that name left his lips, shocked by his own words. His already trembling body shook harder as his breaths became short and ragged, his head pounding just as it had when he first woke up the first day there

His mind caught on fire with the heat of his thoughts running so incredibly fast. Through all of the confusion and anguish that he felt he found one solid idea that he could grasp and hold onto to keep him sane. All of the fury and rage Virgil had been manifesting onto Roman hadn’t originated with him at all, it originated with Damien. Virgil didn’t hate Roman, but he felt more in control in his relationship with Roman than he did with Damien, so he had pushed everything he felt and wished he could say to Damien onto him to find solace for what he could not have with the other.

Softly, a gentle hand grasped onto his shaking hand, jolting Virgil out from the depths of his mind. Kind fingers slowly worked the knife out of his grip, met with no fight or resistance, and set the blade down on the counter next to them, moving next to hold his head bowed against his chest. Tears that he hadn’t know he had been crying fell from the bridge of his nose and fell onto his feet, wetting his socks.

“You can handle yourself, you’ve proven that to me many times before. But I don’t think you’re a killer, you too good of a person to do something like that.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, causing more tears to fall, and a sob managed to escape his mouth before he could stop it. Roman held him closer but Vigil shoved him away and wiped his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his shirt.

“What are you talking about, fuckhead? You don’t know shit about me.” Virgil turned his back and began to stomp his way over to the couch, plopping down on it.

“I guess you’re right.” Roman sighed quietly, watching him go.

The sound of water running went on for the next minute or two as Roman finished cleaning up the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. Virgil laid curled up on his side, flipping through the channels on the tv listlessly. He was still uneasy from their little episode and not entirely sure what it meant for them, or more specifically for him. So he turned to take his mind off of it rather than face it or continue the discussion, although it didn’t help much to distract him.

Once Roman was done in the kitchen he went quickly cleaned himself up in the bathroom and gathered his things to head back out to work. Calling out goodbye from the front door, he left and Virgil was alone once again with his thoughts.

For about an hour more after Roman had gone Virgil simply lazed around thinking. He wondered about how the two of them had come to where they were and pondered over when the change had first started and why he had allowed it to in the first place. He tried to define what they were in his head but found he was unable to properly. They were still enemies, but not at the same time. They weren’t really friends, but it felt like that sometimes, and other times it felt like something stronger. It wasn’t like anything he’s ever known before, it couldn’t be boiled down to something so simple as hate or affection. Whatever it was that he felt towards Roman it was layered, strange, and new. 

And it petrified him with fear.

Two hours passed that he had been moping alone there on the couch, still flipping through the channels, until one caught his attention.

_ “- the police have yet to make an official statement on the offense and a culprit has yet to be found. The only information released to the public so far is this footage from a traffic camera nearby showing a hooded figure walking out of and into an alley near the statue around the time the crime was believed to have taken place. Locals of that area have also claimed to have heard a gunshot around this same time as well. It is still uncertain who is behind this terrible crime but its effects have taken their toll as citizens begin to grow increasingly distrustful of their public officials to do their jobs. Up next we have Earl-” _

Virgil switched the channel again and continued on with what he had been doing, a feeling satisfaction setting in. The ending to the labyrinth in his head was still yet to be found, so he carved out one on his own.

He had a job to finish.

Standing up, Virgil made his way into Roman’s room and rummaged through his closet, pulling out a large white hoodie that was a size too large on him. He also took a pair of grey sweatpants from his dresser and pulled them over his black pants for extra warmth, and finally a red cap to cover his blond hair.

He couldn’t stand it any longer, being with Roman, he had to leave, but he couldn’t go back to Damien either. 

As Virgil left the apartment he wasn’t exactly sure where he was going to go, he just let himself become one in the crowd and let his feet carry him wherever they wanted to go.

 

…

 

Several days had passed since his little Christmas outing with Logan, yet he had barely seen him in all that time. Crunch time for him and the office had kicked into full gear, he rarely even came back to the manor anymore. Patton wasn’t able to go over during lunch hours either, as it took too much time out Logan’s schedule to eat a full meal. Still, he insisted on packing a meal for him at the very least, just because he was busy didn’t excuse him from eating.

Patton again felt a little silly, packing his boss small lunches like he did his two sons, but he also felt like that was all he was good for. He still cooked meals for Jamie and Ahmed, and sometimes Elise, when she was in a good mood, but it wasn’t the same.  It seemed like Logan had gotten all the desired information about the Stacks from him, and now that he wasn’t able to prepare each of his meals every day he felt a little useless. It wasn’t just his lack of work that was keeping him down, lately Thomas and Emile had become more reserved and didn’t seem as happy. Patton knew that the other children had been picking on them and he had spoken to the teacher about it, but he went ignored. He wasn’t even able to help his sons let alone anyone else.

He tried not to dwell on it, however, he knew it would only get worse when Logan actually left to Clover. The two of them had been getting closer since he got back from the last summit, it almost seemed as though they had become something like friends. And, even though it was normal to miss a friend, Patton wasn’t quite sure why having Logan leave bothered so much, much more than it had last time. Patton relied on him for so much, for his work and home, aid in caring for his sons and putting them through school. As his employee, it should be the other way around, yet it seemed that he failed at that too.

Patton sat at the center table in the kitchen chopping carrots for the chicken pot pie he was planning to make for everyone’s lunch. He had recently gone to the library to find a few cookbooks to add some more variety to the dishes he made. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was making it correctly, but it busied his hands and mind and helped to take his mind off of his thoughts. 

Ahmed came in from the back door, finishing his route around the ground’s parameters, nodded towards him in acknowledgment, and left through the door to the rest of the house, most likely to take a nap until lunch was ready. As Ahmed left, Elise came in. She walked head high straight towards him, her eyes were hard and focused like a well-trained hunter seeking her prey. Patton set down his vegetable knife as she approached him, facing towards her with his whole body and offering a kind smile. She didn’t return it and frowned deeper. Once she reached him she shoved a small white box into his hands, Patton fumbled with it and held onto it tightly, not wanting to break whatever was inside the second it was handed to him.

“Master Winchester instructed me to give this to you. It’s already set up with your information inputted.” She then pulled a paper out of her pocket and placed it on the table next to him. “This is all of that information, your new number, and email, in case you somehow manage to lose it. The master’s number has already been saved in your contacts.”

With her job there done, Elise turned and began to leave, but Patton called out to her before she could go.

“Wait, Elise, what is it?”

“What do you think?” Elise glared at him with belittling eyes and a sharp sneer, “It’s a cellphone.” 

The door slammed closed and echoed throughout the large room, shaking the pots and pans hanging on their perch up in the air above the center table.

Patton looked down at the little white box with a picture of a black rectangle in curiosity. He had seen others use cellphones on the occasion at his old job, but he had never held one before, let alone had one to call his own. Fiddling with the box for a minute, Patton opened it up and pulled the device out. It was both large and small at the same time. He twirled it around in his hands for a bit trying to figure out how to turn it on. Eventually, he found three small buttons and began pushing all of them. When he clicked the lone button on one side the screen turned from black to white, and a little sequence of colors popped up along with the image of a pear. The screen then lit up with a single word, reading, HELLO. 

“Uh, hi?” Patton said back, but it didn’t respond. 

The word disappeared and new ones came in its stead. They read out to him how to use the device, instructing him what each button did and how to reach other accessories. Patton keenly paid attention, not wanting to miss any of the instructions. Once they were done the screen went to blue, with many buttons on it. He clicked on the green button with a weird ‘C’ that was supposed to take him to his contacts. One name sat alone in the list: Master Winchester. Patton clicked on it and looked over the additional information, nothing but his phone number. Tapping on the little button that said ‘Edit’ he found that he was able to change the name of the phone contact if he wanted. So he changed the name to Logan.

Tapping on the messenger icon, resembling a little paper letter, Patton sends Logan a message, saying: Thank you for the phone! Clicking the lone button again the cell phone turned off and he set it down of the table away from where he was cooking. His sour mood lightened as he got back to work, happy that he hadn’t been forgotten or dismissed by Logan.

Perhaps he could still be of use to him.

 

...

 

Diana had yelled at him again for leaving for so long during crunch week, so he was forced to stay late until eleven to make up for the work he missed when he went to go make Virgil lunch. It wasn’t his fault really, after all, Virgil didn’t know how to work any of his appliances, and his refrigerator was pretty much empty so he had to stop by the grocery store first. He did feel guilty for stressing out Ana again though, so he made no complaints and stayed behind for a few extra hours.

By the time he was finished with his work he was exhausted and fully prepared to return to his apartment and crash in his bed. Although, with how he left things with Virgil, he doubted he’d be able to relax straight away.

The outburst and showdown of Virgil suddenly threatening his life with a butcher knife had been a surprise, but wasn’t entirely unexpected. Roman had known that he could be a tricky card, unpredictable and potentially dangerous, yet he wasn’t scared at that moment. Naturally, he had backed away from the extended blade out of instinctual preservation, but for some reason, he had known that Virgil wasn’t actually planning to use it on him. He didn’t know how to explain it, but the look in his eyes, while threatening, held no murderous intent. Roman knew well that Virgil didn’t like it when he called him a kid, but his small, shaking, crying form made him look even more like a child lashing out. Virgil was the one who had been scared.

As he suspected, Virgil’s tight hold on that knife had actually been very weak, and he was able to safely take it out of his grasp easily. 

He wasn’t quite sure exactly what it had been to flip a switch in Virgil and cause him to become like that, but it had led him to break down in a way he never expected. Roman won’t forget what it felt like to hold him as he trembles for those short few seconds before he was pushed away. It shined a new light on who Virgil was. Whatever previous image he had of him being nothing but evil scum had been vanquished. He had looked so vulnerable and innocent at that moment as if the world had done nothing but harm to him rather than him doing harm to the world.

The moment he began to yell at him and called him by another name was when he realized that he was simply pouring out bottled up emotions that he had kept in for too long. While Roman didn’t know who Damien was, he had a feeling that he was the true main cause of his issues.

Learning this didn’t change what Roman had to do though, it couldn’t. No matter his past hardships, Virgil still had to answer to his crimes, and Roman had a duty to take him in. Although, he may be able to get a good word in with the judge to lessen his sentence. What Virgil needed was good counseling and an opportunity to correct himself and better his situation, not to rot for the rest of his days in a cell behind closed doors.

On his way back to his apartment, Roman decided to pick up some burgers from a fast-food place for dinner, since he was too tired to cook and was certain that Virgil must be hungry by now. 

“Virgil? I’m back!” He called out into the darkness of his apartment when he arrived, walking in and closing the door behind him with his foot.

He received no response and assumed that Virgil was probably asleep like usual. Kicking off his shoes and putting dinner on the counter, Roman went to Virgil’s room to check on him. The room was dark as well, so he flicked on the dim switch, so as to not scare him out of his sleep, but even in the low light, he wasn’t able to see anyone in the bed. Thinking that he was probably too tired to be seeing his surroundings correctly, he turned up the brightness on the switch but still saw no one. Walking in he looked around, under the bed and in the closet, but came up with nothing. Turning from the room he went and looked in his own room, but found no sleeping Virgil. 

Realization seeped in, but he didn’t give up right away. He looked around in the living room, the kitchen and the bathroom, and even in his own office, but didn’t find a trace of him anywhere.

In all honesty, he had been expecting this to happen since day one, but for some reason, it still hurt that Virgil left without saying anything. Then again, why would he say anything at all? If he had tried to leave while Roman was still here he would have tried to stop him.

The dinner for two, now for one, was beginning to go cold on the counter as it had gone on forgotten and abandoned there. Roman sat down on his couch and stared at the blank tv screen. He tried to convince himself that this was no fault of him or Virgil, that it had been long coming. He couldn’t hold it against him. Even so, he wasn’t able to stop the itching feeling of disappointment from coming, or the sadness.

 

…

 

The quiet hum of the indoor heating system buzzed to life as its set clock hit its determined time zone of when to pump the manor full with warm air to fight off the creeping cold outside that threatened to make its way in through the walls. The heat was much appreciated by the inhabitants of the manor who roamed around the halls in the early hours, up and outperforming their dedicated occupations for the man that employed them. The only ones still slumbering away were the two little boys on the second floor, tucked away under layers of thick blankets, yet even they felt the warm comfort of the heater and sighed happily.

Logan sat in bed, having already been awake hours ahead of time, reading over a debrief sent in from his Secretary of the Province, waiting for his own alarm to go off as well to let him know when he needed to get prepared for the day. He had not slept for the past twenty hours, too stressed and occupied to find any easy sleep. It was unlike him, but he found himself unnerved by many things, the state of his province obviously a major concern.

Another was his approaching meeting with the one person he loathed to see the most at the Senatorial Summit. Senator Martha Quinn had made it very clear that she was willing to do whatever it takes to get the upper hand on him and force him to do her bidding and in his one week of planning to find a way to counterattack he had been unable to find a suitable way to get out of her hold. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was she would request of him, but nothing that came to his mind eased his concerns. While he still needed something from her, the code to the Underground Archives, but he was beginning to question whether or not uncovering the true origin of the Stacks was worth the trouble it would most definitely bring.

However, as pressing as those thoughts were, there was a different subject that acted like fish food for the pond of his thoughts. Try as he might to focus on his work and duties, even going so far as to distance himself from their routine over the past few days, his mind would not leave him and questions regarding his well-being occupied the forefront of his mind. How Patton would fair while he was gone, his well being and safety, all of it constantly nagged at him. Not only that, but Logan wondered how he would fair without Patton by his side as well.

Granted, they did not spend all of their hours together and in fact, only saw each other for an hour or two a day. That was one reason why he was being completely preposterous thinking like this. The last time he had left for the summit he had not acted in such a way. He missed Patton’s cooking but he couldn’t say the same for his person, now Logan felt like he would rather eat slope if it meant he could bring Patton along with him. He couldn’t though, it would look extremely unprofessional for him, a Senator, to bring his personal chef along with him to a summit.

Logan heaved out a hot exhale of air, tossing the papers in his hand to his side on the bed, and ran a cool hand through his hair and down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel the effects of his fatigue draining him of his energy, yet his mind refused to stop running, giving him a headache. He’d need a cup of coffee to jolt him into attentiveness.

A short chime rang from his nightstand, notifying him that he had a new message.

**Patton Sanders: Good morning Logan! :) :D :) Are you up yet? your breakfast is almost ready, :D**

Logan smiled unknowingly at the text message. He could tell that Patton’s grammar was getting better since the first day he messaged him. He forgot to capitalize a letter and accidentally used a comma instead of a period, but he was doing well. The overuse of emoticons was still there, but Logan found it endearing and befitting of Patton’s personality perfectly. 

**You: Yes I am awake. I will be down shortly so why don’t you join me?**

Logan felt his face warm up slightly as he typed the words, suddenly feeling a little apprehensive about inviting Patton to have breakfast with him, although it would be far from their first time.

**Patton Sanders: Of course!! :D**

The smile on his lips grew a little wider at his reply as he placed a hand over it, rubbing it away. He had no time to be a doting fool so early in the morning. Setting his cell phone down back on the nightstand, he pushed himself out of bed and slid his bare feet into his slippers so that they wouldn’t have to touch the cold floor. After washing up in his connected bathroom he went to his closet and searched through his clothes for something to wear, settling on an old navy-blue suit that he’s had for years.

As he made his way down the grand stairs he ran into both Jamie and Ahmed making their rounds, he gave a short greeting to them that they responded to with slight nods, just as they always had and been trained to do by his father. He walked into the dining hall with a contained yawn that didn’t escape his mouth.

“There he is!” An unnecessarily loud voice announced when he walked in, causing Logan to wince. The owner of the voice sat in the seat to the right of the head of the table. Patton was in the seat opposite of them, looking to have been previously chatting before Logan came in. 

Patton smiled brightly when he turned around and saw him, greeting him cheerfully. Logan returned the favor and turned to the other body in the room.

“Joan, when you’d get here?” Logan questioned walking to his chair. 

“Oh about twenty minutes ago. Don’t worry though, little Pat has been keeping me company the whole time.” They said in a playfully lascivious tone, giving Patton a once over and winking at Logan with a smirk.

The corner of Logan’s eye twitched in annoyance, peeved by the way Joan looked at and spoke about his chef, but he sat down with no comment.

“I didn’t know you’d be joining us for breakfast,” Logan said.

“Us?”

“I invited them, Logan. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

“It’s fine Patton, you meant well. It’s Joan who is overstepping their boundaries.”

“First names I see.” Joan mused cheekily, tapping a finger against their chin as they pretended to mull over the idea, “You two have gotten closer since the last time I was here.”

Logan glared at them, finally getting what they were hinting at. Joan has always been overly concerned with his nonexistent romantic life, and especially nosey when it came to anyone who appeared like a plausible partner. However, trying to make him jealous would get them nowhere, he wasn’t so easily swayed by emotions. 

At least he thought he wasn’t.

The meal had been a relatively quiet one, for him at least. Joan and Patton chatted together about almost anything and everything that could come to their minds. Patton went over his favorite foods to cook and the various times his children had helped him in the kitchen. Emile took it naturally but didn’t seem to enjoy it, while Thomas seemed to struggle but loved it. So far the hardest thing they’ve learned to make was a BLT. 

As Patton prattled on pridefully about his sons, Joan listened intently, commenting when they felt like it. Logan watched the two with narrowed eyes. He knew that Patton was an overly friendly and kind person, but the speed at which he became friends with the other pricked his nerves in concern. Try as he might to ignore it and enjoy his breakfast, he wasn’t able to shake the feeling off, even if he knew Joan wasn’t a competition.

He wanted to join in on the conversation, but every time he opened his mouth to say something his mind went blank and he closed in on himself again. In the end, Logan didn’t speak once during the meal, only humming or grunting when the conversation was directed at him. Joan looked at him with a smug but sympathetic look and excused themself, saying that they’d wait for him in the car. Once they were gone, the silence that dwelled over Logan spread to the rest of the room. Logan sat staring at his empty plate, wishing there was still food there so he could at least act like he wasn’t purposefully ignoring Patton. He could feel his eyes watching him and knew that he was waiting for him to make the first move to break the ice. And he wanted to do it, but he didn’t know what to say to make the situation any better.

Eventually, once it was clear that Logan was not going to be the one to speak first, Patton sighed and addressed him. “Hey, I’m sorry again for not asking you first before inviting Joan.” Patton stood, gathering the empty dishes from the table and placing them onto the cart.

Logan gave him a small glance and noticed how the ever-present smile that always appeared to brighten the man’s face was no longer there. He mentally slapped himself at the realization that his stubbornness had, unintentionally, hurt Patton.

“As I said before, it’s alright,” Logan told him, not wanting Patton to feel guilty for his own childish reaction and behavior.

“But I feel like it isn’t.” Patton raised his voice slightly, setting the coffee pot down a little too harshly, causing the other dishes around it to clatter and sing out as they shook from the sudden impact. “You hardly spoke during breakfast, and I know you’re not always a talkative person, but this time it felt tenser. I don’t want to cause you any trouble and I know all I can really do is cook for you, so if I ever do something you don’t like, or if I can do something more, please tell me.”

Words began to spill from his mouth faster and faster until it turned into near gibberish. Logan tried to calm him down but he just kept talking. He got up from his seat and moved towards him, but Patton barely took notice.

“That includes the food too! If something I make is bland or burned please tell me and I’ll make something else right away. Oh, but I guess I can’t really cook for you while I’m gone huh? Well, anyways if there’s something I can do to be more of use, even when you aren’t here please-”

“Patton,” Logan said in a deep tone. Reaching out, he placed a gentle palm against the side of his face to pull him out of his rambles. Patton quieted immediately and jolted his eyes open, which he probably hadn’t even realized he closed.

It pained Logan to know that Patton had been concerning himself so much with serving him. He wondered if there was something he has said or done to make him believe that he was useless or that Logan didn’t value him

“You’re fine Patton,” Logan told him, rubbing his thumb over his cheek. “Fine the way you are. You don’t have to concern yourself so much with making me happy. I’d rather you focus on yourself while I’m gone. Can you do that?” He asked softly, unaware that he was inching closer.

“Uh, y-yeah sure!” The bashful chef stuttered, his cheeks warming under his hands.

Logan smiled, relieved that he no longer appeared so panicked.

A sudden burst of emotion filled his stomach that he didn’t quite understand yet, and the moment between them have him the courage to act on it. Slowly he moved forward, carefully in case Patton wanted to run or pushed him away and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek where his hand, moved to his shoulder, once was. His lips burned and tingle where they made contact with skin, searing the feeling of his soft cheek against him into his memory. The curiosity and puzzlement he had been feeling lately cleared, and what he had been feeling towards Patton became obvious.

However, as all things must come to a close, as soon as the kiss began, it ended. Logan released his hands from him and pulled away, taking a step back away from him with some reluctance, still feeling warm even though the space between them had grown. Patton looked up at him with wide eyes, his face a bright red color, and his glasses a little askew on the bridge of his nose. Logan felt a little guilty for taking him by surprise, but he couldn’t help but find his reaction to be adorable.

Reaching his hands back out, Logan took Patton’s in his and held them gently, but firmly. This seemed to make Patton blush even more.

“Take care of yourself until I get back.”

“Yeah, I, uh- okay.”

Logan smiled and ruffled his hand in Patton’s light brown hair, letting go again and walking off towards the door to leave for the airport with Joan.

“L-Logan!” Patton suddenly called out behind him. Logan turned to look at him, his hand on the doorknob, already opening it. The other didn’t meet his gaze head on and instead look at the tray cart by his side. “You too. Take care of yourself… too.”

“Alright, I will.” He smiled, walking out the door.

Elise waited for him in the foyer, handing him his briefcase and wishing him a pleasant trip. Logan thanked her and made his way to the car waiting for him in his driveway. It had already been packed and loaded by Jamie earlier that morning, and Ahmed sat in the driver’s seat waiting to take them to where they needed to go. Joan stood leaning up against the back door, grinning at him as he came down the porch steps.

“Finally confess your undying love?” They asked as he approached the vehicle.

“Shut up,” Logan grumbled, opening the car door and climbing in.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He laughed, following suit.

As they went on to the road and entered the highway to the airport Logan kept to his thoughts, going over everything that had happened lately, and all the possibilities that could happen later. The two months were sure to be tedious and near torturous, and his confrontation with Martha was quickly approaching. The list of what he had to lose seemed to be growing, he had to work to make sure none of it was checked off.

In spite of his dark thoughts and concerns of what was to come, Logan still felt warm from what had transpired. It may have been foolish to do such a thing right before he was to leave for a long period of time, but he felt certain that he could make something out of it. He liked Patton romantically, he was sure of that now, and when he came back to Faun he would tell him face to face. Hopefully, Patton felt the same and a relationship could be established. However he had to give the other time to think first, Patton was still determined to do whatever it took to serve him, Logan didn’t want him to become his partner simply out obligation, he wanted Patton to have a proper choice in this. And if Patton didn’t feel the same, he would have to accept and respect that.

 

…

 

His legs burned for two reasons. The strain of the endless, persistent put on them from running across part of the city to get away from Roman’s apartment; and the numbing pain of frostbite starting to grab hold of them from sitting in the same spot outside for hours on end after leaving. But they weren’t the only thing that burned.

His mind was devastated.

The sounds of cars honking loudly in the streets melded with the voices rising up in the crowd of busy people rushing to and fro in Faun’s red-light district. The screech of the city spun around and up into the atmosphere like a booming, obnoxious and deafening. The smog that came from the numerous vehicles, buildings, and smokers rose into the atmosphere as well, clouding the sky with a cloud of karma that was waiting to rain down on them. The people went on as if there was nothing amiss, yet a clear feeling of anxiety covered even their deepest-most thoughts.

Virgil watched from his perch on top of City Hall, where he had set the stage for his plans days ago. He had made the decision to not return to the Stacks and stay there in the city to finish what he had started, uprooting this city from its core.

He bore his cold eyes into the minds and souls of every one of the thousands that went by. A poor clerk groaned over another day that was to be surrounded by thankless and cruel customers who saw him as less than them. A businesswoman fretted over the traffic, worried that she wouldn’t make it to her presentation in time. An old storekeeper agonized about the corporate company who was threatening him out of business. Each and every person in the city had something to be scared of, festering into a cloud of unrest above them.

Hypocrites, each and every one of them, they were. While they feared the big bad that held their lives in its hands, feeling like nothing more than servants to their society, not a few miles away greater suffering cried out. Worry and concern over an annoying customer or competition sounded like a paradise in comparison to their lives. The city dwellers ate away their fears with overindulgence and leisure activities, complaining that the economy wasn’t better while they still had meals on their plates, believing they were the one's fate dealt a bad hand to. 

That was the reason Virgil hated all of them. Even the poorest district in the city had a life far superior to his people. One meal a day was better than one a week. Scraps filled the stomach more than crumbs, yet the city dwellers thought of nothing but themselves. They urged the government to take action, but only to make their fat stomachs and pockets fatter. That is the nature for those born with too much who have never once known hunger or strife, they will never be satisfied with what they have. They will crave more, stealing from even the mouths of the starving just to appease themselves. Virgil hated it, he hated them all.

As he should and was always meant to.

He was a fool for seeing even a shred of beauty or peace there in the city. He was a sheep in the lion's den, but he was not an innocent white lamb, he was a wolf hiding in sheep’s clothing. He’d let that cloud of fear build over their heads, he’d help it fester until the time came when he would destroy those who were ungrateful to their lives and ignorant to the suffering right in their backyard.

Roman had said that he wasn’t a bad person, but that only made him an even bigger fool than Virgil for believing it was true for a second. He had always been a feral monster since birth, Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if his parents purposefully left him in that stack collapse, it was his role to play in his story. Damien had been right, he had been fooling himself all along. His life with Patton and his brothers had been good, but that was over now, he had woken up from that dream, and he was back to the way he was before they came into the picture. Virgil loved to steal, he loved to cause chaos, just as he was told he did.

But there is one thing Damien got wrong. Those qualities didn’t come from or belong to Damien, they were his and they were born from the hellscape of his life. He may find pleasure in what he does, but he’s not a mindless zombie, everything has a purpose whether it be for survival or an ulterior motive.

Emotion and sentiment meant nothing to him now, past connections and relations were of no concern anymore. He is grateful to Patton for adopting him, but he had to move on from that now; he appreciated Dolores, Agatha, and Mary for helping him out and being somewhat like friends to him, but he could no longer rely on them for their guidance; he is thankful that he managed to pull Hoa out of her circumstances to make up for his mistakes, but her life was no longer in his hands. Whoever he pretended to be, what he had deluded himself with, it all had to be forgotten. Stealing and giving the profits to the stackers could only do so much, and meeting Roman and Calhoun had taught him that it wouldn’t last forever and he’d be caught eventually. So if his destiny is to end up behind bars, then he wants to go his own way.

Fear of Damien, concern for Hoa and the others, love for Patton and his brothers, his muddled feelings for Roman, remorse for his real parents, all of these emotions must be left behind and leave room for only one. Rage was his only ally now, and it was what would guide his actions from now on. Even if it led him into a fire to break apart this city he would face the flames and suffer the burns do it. His plan has already been set in motion with the statue, but it had only caused a ripple, for his next move he would jump in, and make a splash that would send a wave of destruction over society.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just gotta say that I love y'all and thank y'all so much for you're support and love that this story has been receiving lately. Out of all my stories, this is one of the least successful by the numbers, but I loved it too much to give it up, and your kudos and comments really make it worth it. I wasn't too proud of this chapter, but I tried my best to make it as good as it could be.  
> I noticed a huge continuity error and I’m doing my best to fix it, I even edited past chapters to try and clear it up. Basically, just go to chapter 7 and read the first paragraph to understand the continuity change.  
> Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter, I love ya and I'll see y'all next time!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: self-depreciation

“Patton?  _ Patton _ ?” Jamie called out from his seat across the center kitchen table, however his call fell on deaf ears as Patton busied himself with pushing the egg he was frying around in needless circles as it sizzled, gazing off at a random spot on the wall in front of him. His mind was a blank static, not even registering the fact that he was still cooking. “Patton! Your egg is burning!” Jamie yelled again, raising his voice to grab Patton’s fickle attention.

Snapping harshly out of his thoughts and looking around frantically he noticed the smoke in front of his face and looked down at his pan and saw that his fried egg had been charred black and was currently smoking. Letting out a yelp of panic, Patton quickly pulled the pan off of the stove, turned off the burner, and discarded the pan into the sink before pouring water over it to cool it down. He coughed as the smoke and steam mixed together and rose up into his face and fell back against the table with a heavy gasp of air to clear his lungs.

“Are you okay?” Jamie asked running over to his side.

“Yeah! Yeah… Sorry kiddo, guess I just drifted off a bit there.” Patton apologized rubbing a hand against the back of his head, the other covering his mouth in case he coughed again. He offered a smile of reassurance, but it fell flat. “I’ll make another one right away.”

“‘Kiddo’? Hey, don’t forget that I’m older than you. If you’re not feeling well then you can go to your room and rest.”

Patton shook his head and mumbled a hasty “I’m fine” and went over to the refrigerator to pull out the egg carton. However, Jamie caught up and took the eggs from his hands before he could set them down on the counter. Patton was about to argue with him but the serious look on his face clammed his mouth shut.

“Patton,” he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Go rest.”

“Okay...” the tired chef caved in, resigning himself away from his duty. Jamie told him not to care about the mess and head up to his room, and that he’d take care of everything.

His footsteps echoed as he walked through the empty halls of the manor, vibrating within himself, and sounded hollow. The blinding void of white and grey outside and the dull browns and blacks in the inside seemed to outshine all color around him. He felt just as empty as the house around him.

His room was slightly warmer than the rest of the manor, but Patton hardly noticed, and his miniature garden on his window sill and table glowed brightly with his vibrant array of flowers, but they did little to lighten his mood. It only made him think more about what he had been trying to avoid. Ignoring it all, Patton collapsed on his mattress and stared out the window at the vast sky above.

The sight of Logan leaning in close to him and the touch of the soft kiss against his cheek played on an endless loop in his head. Patton flushed brightly at the memory and covered his face in his hands, flipping onto his side on the mattress. He felt warm despite not wearing a second layer and being on top of the covers, and his chest clenched and his heart ached.

Ever since Logan had left him with that sudden kiss he had been feeling like a dopey fool. Patton wasn’t sure what to make of that day, why Logan had done what he did, and what it meant to him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it no matter how he tried to approach it. The kiss hadn’t been a familial gesture and was most likely not platonic either, which left only one other option.

However, for all he knew, there was not a single quality about him, appearance, personality, or social-wise that could justify Logan to develop any romantic affections towards him. He was plain-looking at best; with shaggy pale brown hair, large and sporadic freckles, and boring brown eyes. Unlike Logan’s handsome features such as his neatly combed dark-roasted chestnut hair, clear and clean porcelain skin, and deep, beautiful blue eyes. Appearance aside, Patton was far too childish, ignorant, and common for Logan to see anything special. A runaway stacker shouldn’t and couldn’t be with someone of his status.

And yet, Logan had kissed him.

This puzzle was always on his mind no matter what he tried to distract himself with. To make matters worse, Logan hadn’t kept in touch with him to offer any clarification since he left, most likely because he was too busy with important senator-like duties, and Patton was too nervous to send him a message or call him over the phone. He was stuck in a labyrinth of twists, turns, and questions.

As a consequence of his dazed disposition, he had been utterly failing at all other aspects of his life, both as an employee and as a father. Not only had he messed up and ruined several meals that week, but he had also been butchering his role as a father.

Thomas and Emile had recently learned about times tables in math class and were having trouble keeping up with the other children. Patton wanted to help when they came to him with their homework questions, but unfortunately, he knew even less than they did. Patton has a vague memory of his father teaching him about time tables, drawing symbols and equations in the dirt, but it had been so many years that Patton forgot everything he had been taught.

He didn’t want his boys to fall behind, however, he wanted the very best for them, so he requested Ahmed to help them with their studies. Thankfully the house’s guardian agreed and began tutoring his sons, but when Elise found out about his ignorance on the subject and inability to do basic math she began to mock him harshly for it. Jamie came into his defense against her, but Patton could tell that even he was concerned and disturbed by his lack of education.

What’s more, his boys had been returning home with scraps more often as of late. He knew they were being bullied at school but when he tried to discuss it with their teacher he was always shot down.

Despite Logan telling Patton that he valued his work and to focus on taking care of himself in his absence, he still felt utterly useless and defeated.

The minutes that passed that he lied there unmoving on his bed turned slowly into what felt like hours, although it had in fact been only one. Eventually, once it became obvious that he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, he got up from the bed and dressed for a walk out in the cold. His sons would be getting out of school in about an hour, so might as well go for a walk before then, maybe go to a coffee shop and buy some hot chocolate to surprise them with and hopefully cheer both him and them up.

 

...

 

The noise of bustling people died out the further away he got from the three central districts, but the population didn’t decrease, it increased instead. The further and further he went into the outer districts the more overcrowded it became. In districts like the twelfth or thirteenth, only a few dozen lucky people lived in houses of their own; tenant buildings and apartment complexes were filled to the brim with individuals and families alike; the rest of the people that lived there stayed either in the empty and rundown buildings of business that had been closed for good. It wasn’t like that in every district, however, and the quality of living improved greatly the closer to the city center. It was the bottom three districts that had it worse, and it’s where Virgil felt most at home.

Living among those in the thirteenth opened his eyes a little more to the lives outside the Stack’s borders. The poverty was not nearly as high as it was in the Stacks, but it was still there on a scope much grander than the rest of the city. 

It was almost as if it were on a perfectly sadistic and balanced scale with the upper three districts on one side and the bottom three on the other; district one as the most profitable, and district fourteen as the poorest.

There was a time long before he was born when the Stacks hadn’t been referred to as such and was instead called district number fourteen. It was where the wealthy went to play and vacation in its beautiful grass fields along the river. At least that was the story. Those grass fields no longer existed, and the beauty of the river had long been ruined with pollution from the thirteenth and eleventh districts dumping into it. The stackers would clean it the best they could every summer, in a desperate attempt to keep the fish there, which was one of their few food sources, alive and the water clean enough to drink; but the river always dirtied within a few weeks of autumn and they’d have to clean it again before it was impossible to do so in the winter.  

Virgil had taken refuge in an old house where the roof was caving in, living along with two families that had become one, and an old man who could barely move anymore and would probably pass in a few days if it weren’t for one of the mothers taking turns caring for him. The old man whined and complained every time they fed or cleaned him, never saying a word of gratitude, but his old eyes spoke volumes in place of his mouth. Virgil himself lived in the attic of the house right next to the giant hole in the roof. He didn’t spend too much time around the others in the household below him, as he couldn’t afford to gain any new attachments or being discovered.

As he walked around the twelfth district, where he was staying, during his time out of his hiding spot he would notice many things; one being the lack of unity between the people in the districts. There were a few kind souls who were generous with that they had, but the majority treated everyone else as their enemy, a lack of trust was established between everyone there. In that respect, the lower districts differed from the Stacks again; as where the lower districts had only a few treat others like family while everyone else saw them as their enemy and competition, the Stacks was the direct opposite.  

The other thing that Virgil noticed was a large number of gangsters in the area, even in the houses beside him. They patrolled the streets hourly, knocking on doors to charge tenants for their protection fee, just like the gangsters do in the Stacks. Each of them wore some kind of yellow article of clothing, confirming Virgil’s fear. All of the small local gangs there were under the jurisdiction of Damien and worked for him. It took him a few days but eventually, Virgil memorized the tolling hours and routes of the thugs and moved around them. He still kept his red cap on his head at all times, however, as an extra safety precaution. If anyone, gangster or not, saw his blond hair they would be able to recognize him as Damien’s property.

The word that the boss’s favorite was missing had surely spread to the far reaches of Damien’s influence, and he definitely had a reward hanging over his head by now that would attract a crowd to him like moths to a flame. Adding the fact that Virgil lost his electric shock gloves and throwing knives when Roman had taken him in, he had nothing to protect himself with. He had to tread carefully.

So Virgil rarely went back to that house except to sleep for a few hours. All of his waking hours were spent in the crevices near the inner city, hiding in the shadows as he monitored the world around him. Virgil scanned the city and its people, looking for weak spots. It had been nearly two weeks since he had made his first statement, and he could tell that his impact had landed with a hard bang. Whenever he passed a television in the streets in his citizen disguise he’d see news coverage of his little stunt and its effects. The people were becoming anxious and angry, they were suspicious and accusatory of the government and demanded retribution, but for the wrong reasons. The anchors on the talk shows and the whispers on the streets all pointed the message towards the current downward spiraling of the economy.

Once again the disgusting and despicable people of the city thought nothing of themselves and their own pathetic hardships. Whines that vacation time was no longer affordable, that a much needed new pair of shoes couldn’t be bought, only one present could be bought this year for a child’s birthday, and so on and so forth.

So Virgil decided to make his message much blunter. He looked up towards the Northfield Skyscraper as his next possible canvas. The one thousand foot tall building was the perfect structure to send a message, though, it was also the most difficult target and without his tool belt to assist him, scaling its fiberglass and concrete walls or breaking in was basically impossible. Therefore, Virgil took his eyes off the skyscraper and turned it to its neighbor, the second oldest building in the city, besides City Hall, the Faun Clocktower. In contrast to the more modern skyscraper, the Faun Clocktower was only around three hundred feet in height, had little to no security, and was made out of jutted stone that would be easier to climb up if needed. Although he still needed materials to put his plan into action if it was going to work, so Virgil made his way through the city shops in search of new tools.

He walked leisurely up and down the aisle of a general store, soaking in the warm air of the indoor heating system, feigning interest in random objects he had never seen or hardly recognized until he found what he needed. Pocketing the roll of rope, Virgil carefully tore off the tag and discarded it on the rack. He did the same with a miniature screwdriver case, wrench, and a fanny pack. Once he had enough he went into the small bathroom in the back, ignoring the sign that forbade him from bringing merchandise in the bathroom since he didn’t even know what that word meant. Though he had a feeling that the things he was carrying were the merchandise. He situated himself in one of the stalls, taking everything out of the package so the security detectors wouldn’t notice. Virgil wrapped the rope around his waist under his hoodie, placed a few things in his boots, some in his pants, others in his hood, and the rest in his large front pocket until everything was hidden from view.

As soon as he was done he left the store without an issue, shivering as he went, and walked into an open alleyway where he took everything out of their hiding spots and filled up his pack with the tools. It was a far cry from his old tool and weapons belt, but it was better than nothing.  

With a new vision of the future on his mind, and the basic tools necessary to bring it to fruition, Virgil set out to visit an old friend who held the last ingredient under the cover of night. Until then he’d take cover in the shopping centers under the guise of an average customer. Might as well stay warm while he waited for nightfall.

 

...

 

The trip from his work to his favorite cafe had taken Roman about fifteen minutes by car, yet it felt like less than a minute had passed by to him. He hadn’t even realized he walked in and ordered a coffee until he found himself suddenly sitting at a table in the far corner of the shop.

Everything seemed to fast to him, even the usual dullness of his work passed by quickly. Roman hardly noticed his own hand moving as he moved through document after document, and his mind registered nothing but words as he read through and signed them. From dusk to dawn, wakefulness to sleep, Roman noticed very little outside of the work he had been throwing himself at to make up for his previous slothfulness. He was the first to arrive at the office in the morning, and the last one to leave at night.

Even his assistant Diana, who often treated him as a child for never completing his work and running off, and spent much of her time trying to tie him down to his office chair, was shocked by his sudden work ethic and devotion. For the first few days, she hadn’t complained and instead rejoiced that he was finally taking charge and fulfilling his duties. However, as the days went by, she was able to see the unhealthiness of his lifestyle. The longer he continued that way the number he became to anything that wasn’t paperwork or council meetings. 

After a week of this nonstop restless cycle, Diana practically kicked him out of the building, demanding he go take a break to clear his head before continuing any further. “You look like a zombie,” she had told him as she pushed him into the elevator.

Nevertheless, Roman felt no different. All he could think about was his meeting at three twenty with the Board of Preservation and the report that he had to finish typing up before he left for the day. 

Catching a glimpse of his reflection in his coffee mug Roman noticed the distinguishable dark circles and bags under his eyes and his pale complexion. Perhaps he did look like a zombie, but focusing on his work was all he could do to not think about Virgil.

Roman shook his head, he didn’t want to think any more on the subject and stood from his seat to head back to work, not wanting to waste any more time dilly-dallying, however, the sudden rise of noise over at the counter grabbed his attention before he could leave.

“I’m sorry I must’ve forgotten my wallet. Can I quickly run back and get it?” A man, appearing about Roman’s age, apologized shifting through the pockets on his coat.

“Sorry, but I can’t take your order unless you can pay for it.” The barista behind the counter said.

“I can! I’ll just be a minute-”

“Hey, you’re holding up the line and some of us actually have to go places.” Another man behind the first one complained, obviously growing annoyed with the scene in front of him.

“I’m sorry sir, I just-”

“Look, sir,” The barista spoke up again, “if you can’t pay for your order you’ll just have to come back later.”

The man looked defeated and bowed his head, turning to exit the line.

Again, Roman barely noticed his own feet moving.

“I’ll pay for it.” Roman butted in walking up to the counter and taking out his debit card. The nameless man, who looked oddly familiar, glances up at him in surprise and quickly stepped forward to stop him, shaking both his head and his hands.

“Oh no sir, I couldn’t ask you to pay for me.”

“You’re aren’t asking me, it’s called being nice.”

The man seemed to quiet down when he heard that, his eyes glossing over as if he had just seen a ghost. Roman took his silence as an okay and continued paying for the three hot chocolates on the tab. He decided not to bother asking why a lone man had ordered three hot chocolates, or if he was planning to finish them all by himself.

“Thank you.” The man said as they exited the line, allowing the angry one behind them to finally place his order.

“Don’t mention it.” Roman waved him off. Truthfully, it felt good to be doing some good for others again, and by the looks of it, the man obviously needed to be shown a little kindness in his life. “Would you like to join me while you wait? I’m Roman Sanchez by the way.”

“Patton Sanders, and, um, sure.” Patton agreed, following after behind him as Roman led the way back to the table he had previously abandoned.

A little voice in the back of his head warned him of missing work but he pushed it away. He wouldn’t be there for too long and he’d be back there before he missed anything; and, in all honesty, Roman could use some company right about now.

“It’s not every day I see someone forget their wallet when they’re about to buy something.” Roman noted as he settled himself back into his seat across from his new companion, playfully switching his detective mode on, “You weren’t trying to pull a scam were you?”

“No! Not at all!” Patton squeaked, becoming flustered anew,  “I just haven’t been thinking straight lately.” He confessed, his volume lowering along with his head as he moved his eyes down to his lap. 

A spark of empathy ignited in Roman as he was reminded of himself. The other looked drained and lonely, tired from whatever it was he had recently experienced, similar to how Roman felt.

“Yeah, I’m there too, man.” Roman agreed with a breathy exhale, slumping further down into his chair.

This seemed to start something within Patton, as his companion straightened a little in his seat and lift his head as his gaze grew much more intent.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Patton asked kindly.

Roman sighed again and looked over at the wall, thinking. He hadn’t expected to talk about himself when he offered Patton to come to sit with him. Moments passed that he mulled over his own circumstance, unable to put a pin to it. “It’s complicated at best,” he muttered, unsure what else to say. 

“So is mine.” Patton let out a soft chuckle, “I’m all ears.”

Roman rocked back and forth on his chair, ignoring the dangers, and mulled over whether or not he should come clean with what has been on his mind to a virtual stranger. Honestly, Roman really wanted to talk with someone to clear his mind, put his thoughts in order, and maybe get a second opinion. However, Roman had no one to talk to as his only two friends were both too busy and far away from where he couldn’t reach them. Logan had gone to his bimonthly summit across the Nation, and Talyn was still deep undercover hunting for the source of gang violence and illegal trafficking. His friends were all gone and he was alone, and, despite his nice and friendly character, Roman didn’t truly know Patton. Then again it wasn’t like telling him bits of information would completely out him for any misdemeanor if he even committed one. Thus far Patton hadn’t even recognized him as the Head of Security, even though he was technically in a small disguise of sunglasses and a white cap, his red one missing, so talking to him wouldn’t be likely to lead to repercussions. 

“Well, there’s this guy who I’m kinda… acquaintances with, and we aren’t talking anymore.” That was an extremely watered down version of what had happened a week ago, like how he had his life threatened and then comforted his attacker soon after, but that didn’t need to be said.

“Did something happen between you two?”

To say that ‘something’ happened barely even scraped the tip of the iceberg. In fact, Roman wasn’t even sure what that ‘something’ was. There had been a vast range from tranquility to crushing tension between them in the small span of days they were together alone. 

“I don’t know, really. He had been staying at my place for a few days while he was… well anyway, we had been living together for a bit, but then he suddenly up and left.”

“Do you know why he did?” Patton pressed gently, his voice calm and even, as if he had years worth of experience with talking to others about tough issues.

“Probably because he still doesn’t trust me? I mean- we haven’t always been on the best terms, and even when we started to get along better we still were always at ends. He always seemed to be on edge, even if he acted like he was calm.”

“Well,” Patton offered, scooting a little closer to the table in his seat, “maybe he’s under a lot of stress. Do you know what his home or work life is like?”

Roman sat back a little, his eyes narrowing as he tried to think over all their past experiences together. Roman had never thought about what Virgil did outside of his criminal life as he went around trying to stop him from stealing and breaking into houses, the only thing he ever focused on was what he had been taking from others. And the conditions in which he lived, whether or not he truly was a stack rat, had never crossed his mind. 

“Not sure about his home life, but I know that his work isn’t particularly safe.” Was all he could say in response. 

Patton hummed and looked down at his hand thoughtfully, his eyes looking distant as if he was thinking back to his own time in a similarly harsh environment.

“Working in a dangerous workspace can often cause a lot of stress and caution. He could just be so used to being careful about how he does things that staying with you freaked him out.” Patton said helpfully and then lowered his eyes again with a hint of sadness, “I know someone just like that. What’s important to keep in mind is to give that person space, time, and consideration. You don’t know exactly what he has to go through with his coworkers and boss at his job so you have to be mindful about how you act.”

Roman froze.

“His… boss?” He breathed hushedly under his breath.

“Yeah, an awful boss can really wear someone down.”

“He… has a boss?” Roman repeated again, deaf to whatever Patton had said due to the astonishing revelation. 

“Oh, is he self-employed?” His companion asked sounding flustered, “Sorry, I just assumed he was working for someone.”

“No, no, you're a genius, Patton!” Roman cheered grabbing his hands in excitement.

“...I am?” He asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes, you are!” Roman affirmed, friendly tightening his grip on his hands and nodding his head enthusiastically. A sudden buzz from his pocket pulled his attention to whoever was currently trying to reach him. “Sorry I have to get going, but we should keep in touch. Next time I’ll listen to what’s been going on with you.” Roman let go of Patton and stood up from the table, picking up his unfinished coffee and offered a handshake.

Patton stood up as well and hesitantly took his hand, “Oh, y-yeah sure!” He stuttered.

“Thank you so much for listening, Patton!” Roman said gratefully as he backed away towards the entrance of the shop. 

“Of course Roman, I’m glad I could help you.” Patton gave him a kind wave, which he returned before opening the door.

A bell chimed as he left the coffee shop, the hustle and bustle replaced the previous tranquility. Looking at his phone he read the large name that shone on the screen, reading ‘ **Diana** ’. Pressing the green button on the sleek surface Roman answered and brought his phone to his ear and walked off in the direction of his car.

“Hello?” He answered,

“Hello sir, your meeting is in forty, you should come back to get your notes prepared and…” Her words fell silent on his preoccupied mind for the first time in about a week, the old inner monologue returning as he thought over his new discovery. 

It was so obvious that Roman questioned why he hadn’t thought of it before. Any regular thief wouldn’t repeatedly steal millions worth of items and still look so worn down. At the very least a common thief, with the skills of an expert, would spend much of it on themselves and turn towards a luxurious life with all needs taken care of. Virgil’s wounds told another story, however, because the bruises, scars, and illtreated fractures and breaks tell Roman that he hasn’t seen proper treatment practically ever. Yet they had been treated, which meant someone must be watching out for him. Someone who valued what Virgil brought and was able to supply him with the weapons and tools to get it done.

A higher power controlling him would explain why Virgil constantly threw himself into danger and why he suddenly had a partner after his first attack. Whoever it was that employed Virgil must come from a high-level influence in the organized crime ring, possibly even the leader of it. 

It would also explain why Virgil had called him ‘Damien’ before he left, that could be his boss’s name, and by the sounds of it, he didn’t like him too much.

This knowledge could be a big help to Talyn in their undercover mission and give them a person to go after, but with no contact of any kind, Roman had no way of reaching them. 

Either way Roman felt like he finally understood Virgil a bit more, even if just by a little. He had given up after Virgil left the first time because he wasn’t sure how he could reach out to him, but now he knew that he had gone about it the wrong way. He needed to let Virgil choose what he wanted to do, whether to accept Roman’s aid or refuse it. 

At this point, Roman no longer cared about arresting Virgil, although that was a potential outcome of whatever he was getting himself into. Now, Roman wanted to understand what it was that had brought Virgil so much anger and led him to steal and offer him a chance to turn away from it. 

 

…

 

His name was called by the barista the same minute Roman left to answer his phone. Patton stood from the table and went over to the counter to pick up his order, all placed in a cardboard tray, and exited the building himself. He had been out for almost an hour already, which meant his boys were due to get out of class very soon. Patton quickened his pace and made his way for the academy where they attended.

When he had left the manor to go on a walk and clear his thoughts Patton hadn’t anticipated coaching someone else on their own problems, he half expected to spew out everything he had been going through lately, the confusion and doubt, right to Roman the second he asked about it, but something inside him said that he should listen to his companion instead.

In the end, he’s glad he did. To be able to assist someone in something important that they weren’t able to figure out by themselves without him made Patton feel a little bit better about himself. He wasn’t completely incompetent.

It was five till the bell when he arrived at the gate of the school and showed a special pass that all parents and caretakers had to get into the school. Patton waited along with other parents, nannies, or personal drivers in the center courtyard for the children to come running out when the final ring announced the end of the day. Hundreds of children came flooding out of the buildings, creating a dense sea that could easily confuse any normal person; but Patton kept his eyes trained for the two little figures with the same faces and uniforms. A few minutes passed and he still hadn’t spotted his sons, until he recognized the pink and red hats that stuck out from the rest of the crowd of greys, blues, and whites.

The boys walked down the steps slowly, holding each other's hand, with their eyes glued to the ground. Patton called out for them and they immediately snapped their heads up. Thomas beamed at him and called back, but Emile stayed quiet, looking sad. As they walked closer Patton was able to see the light bruising on Emile’s face and the redness of Thomas’s knuckles. Patton sighed and knelt down, setting the hot chocolate down on the ground, and took Emile’s little face in his hands.

“What happened, honey?”

Thomas opened his mouth before Emile could, his little face puffed up in anger and he clenched his fists at his side.

“The other boys made fun of Emile again!” The older twin cried.

“And did you hit them?” Patton asked calmly.

“They were mean!”

“Lots of people are mean, but that doesn’t mean you have to be, you can be better. Violence is not a nice thing to do.”

Emile looked down at his feet and hugged himself tighter, tears pricking his eyes as he sniffled. Patton’s heart ached at the sight.

“It hurts.”

“The kids here don’t realize how amazing you are.” Patton murmured with a sad smile. He pulled Emile into a tight embrace as the little boy started to cry. 

Patton knew what it felt like to be hated for being different and standing out. He had been ridiculed and laughed at in the kitchen of Pájaro Rico for being an illegal hire from the Stacks. Throughout the years working long, tiring hours there he had never once said anything back or in defense of himself. Patton did not want that for his sons at such a young age.

Patton comforted his crying son and gave them the cooling hot chocolate, offering to take them to the theater, but not before taking care of the issue at hand. He had stayed quiet for too long.

Walking back into the school building they exited, Patton headed to their homeroom class, where he had dropped them off at several times. He told his sons to wait outside and went in.

The boys’ teacher was sitting at her desk on her computer when he walked in. She turned to face him when the sound of the door opening and closing caught her attention. She turned and offered a smile but immediately dropped it.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Sanders?” She asked turning back to her computer.

“Are you aware that my sons are getting bullied?” He asked bluntly, his voice accusatory because he knew for a fact that she was fully aware of what was happening, but chose to ignore it. 

“Ugh, this again? Mr. Sanders, I already told you that it was your own son that started the fight.”

“Not according to my Thomas.” Patton countered, stepping closer but keeping a distance. The teacher turned and gave him an unimpressed look.

“You should know that that boy has a horrible temper, he’s the one always arguing with the other boys, who, in my opinion, were only defending themselves.” 

“Then how did my Emile end up with a bruised cheek?” He countered, and by the panicked look that crossed her face, he knew he caught her.

“W-Well, he shouldn’t have stepped in-”

“So you admit you saw children fighting each other and you thought it best to sit back and watch until another  _ child _ stepped in and did what an  _ adult _ should’ve done.”

“Mr. Sanders I refuse to-”

“My Emile is not a fighter, he’s a lover, and my Thomas is not violent, just protective. The only reason either one of them would get hurt is if someone else started it. Those boys are two of the sweetest and gentlest out there and it’s only due to stupidity from people like you that they got hurt.”

The woman gasped in offense and held a hand over chest, her face stunned and angry. Apparently not used to getting lectured by a parent for being completely incompetent as a grade school teacher. She opened her big mouth to say something but Patton spoke before she could have that chance.

“I’m gonna move Thomas and Emile out of your class, and I have half a mind to report you as well.” He said in a deafening, final voice, leaving no room for any more discussion or argument. The teacher looked at him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, in shock from his covered threat.

With his work done there, Patton turned and left the room. His boys hopped up from the floor and ran over to him as he left. They begged and pleaded for details of what happened but Patton didn’t tell them. He was never one for confrontation and was partially surprised he even said anything at all. But he was glad he did. Helping Roman face his problems earlier gave him the confidence he needed to face his own.

Stopping by the front office Patton picked up the form to request a classroom change and then headed on his way to the movies with his children. As they walked there Patton glanced down at his boys and watched them. They finally had that bright smile back on their faces after it being absent for the past few months, and Patton was happy for it.

It had been only a few years that Patton has had the twins and sometimes he forgets that they’re not his. Most days it feels like they’ve been with him all along. To him, it didn’t matter that they didn’t come from him, they were his. And he wanted the best for them, including the son that was no longer with him.

 

…

 

“The trades with Gemma have been improving along our Northern border, which has greatly improved our grain and cotton industries and leveled off a small percent of the depression and increased our labor force by two percent. However, our reservoirs saved from the harvest won’t last too long and we’ll have to find another item of trade to keep our neighbor in business with us. To make matters worse,  Ignius to the West doesn’t like the idea of lowering trade prices and demands an ambassador be sent to renegotiate. To do this, I’ve elected Senator Natasha Sterling of the Lilac Province.”

Murmurs began to rise around the congregation among the gathered senators in response to the Chancellor’s choice, but they were all soon quieted as the woman in question stood from her seat.

“I am honored, Chancellor Newman, I will bring success.” She said with a bow, not looking too sure of her capabilities herself.

Sterling was a relatively new senator and didn’t have as much experience in trade deals as others. Her province also was nowhere near Ignius, Lilac was in the middle of the country, far from the West. It would have been wiser to choose a senator who had to deal with Ignius on the constant.

Logan eyed her and turned his gaze to the Chancellor. The man grinned and gave his thanks before moving on to the next subject. In all honesty, Logan wasn’t sure why that man was the Chancellor, he definitely didn’t appear to be the most capable. If he had been a senator when the elections were held, Newman definitely wouldn’t have gotten his vote. Unlike other democracies in the world, his country, Ura, didn’t have its leader chosen directly by the people. Instead, the people chose the senators, and the senators chose the chancellor. Their neighbors scoffed at them for this, but they saw it as for the best.

But Logan didn’t, it made it too easy for leadership to be corrupted.

The bell rung on the dot of the clock striking noon, announcing the break for dinner from the four-hour long session, cutting off Chancellor Newman before he could finish his thought. With his dismissal, everyone broke off and exited the Cone, named after the shape of the main discussion room where laws were made, to the cafeteria to eat and relax for the next hour. The scene reminded Logan of his time in the Academy where he sent Patton’s sons to be educated. Funnily enough, there were cliques here as well.

The cafeteria at the Senatorial Hall offered a variety of food, but it was not required to eat there and one could leave to eat out if they wished. Logan planned to do just that and escape away from the suffocating stupidity of the others surrounding him.

Nevertheless, Logan found himself confronted by the most annoying one of them all.

“There you are, Lo Lo!” Martha cheered from behind, running up to walk by his side through the thinning crowd. “I was hoping I’d find you today.”

Logan wanted to groan, run, tell her to leave, do practically anything to get the older woman to leave him alone. Instead of doing any of that, however, he simply gave her a cold look of disinterest.

“What do you want, Miss Quinn?” He asked curtly.

“Nothing really,” she said carelessly, leaning into his side and looping her arms around his right one, however, the look in her eyes told another tale, “I just wanted to know if you made your decision yet?”

The crowd around them ceased to exist at the ferocious chill of her low tone. Logan swallowed his spit and looked away, training his eyes ahead of him.

Several days ago, the evening of his arrival, Martha arrived at his room with a proposition. That he vote in her favor on every single bill for the entirety of the summit with no questions asked or complaints, in exchange for the passcode to the underground archives on the final day. Even if that bill had a direct negative effect on his home province, he’d have to vote on it as she wanted.

At first, Logan was going to straight up deny her, not willing to endanger the citizens who put their trust in him when he was voted into office, but he couldn’t risk making a rash choice with his career on the line. He asked for a few days to mull it over, and she granted it.

Logan went to Joan about it first and opened up about what it was he was after, telling them of his suspicions of the Stacks’ true nature and purpose, and about the help, he had been receiving from Patton to learn more about its origin. Although they teased him for a solid ten minutes about his closeness to his personal chef, they did offer a good insight into his predicament.

_ “As I see it there’s a way you can use this little game of her’s as a way to expose her. If you manage to persuade enough senators each bill in opposition to whatever Martha wants, then your vote won’t even matter, and once those few catches on to what’s going on, they’ll help you expose her as a blackmailer. I know that her Province’s elections are coming up soon, this would be the perfect time to kick her out of office.” _

While he didn’t quite agree with kicking her out of office, Logan could not deny the comfort that came with the idea of no longer having to deal with the eccentric senator. Still, there was a risk in that plan, there was a possibility that Martha would find out about his betrayal and continue with the threat to frame him. There was a lot on the line and Logan wasn’t sure yet what path he should pick.

“I still need more time.” He replied, shrugging her off. Martha pouted and leaned away with a short huff, but still keep a hold on his wrist, like a snake coiling around its prey.

“Fine then,” she conceded, but still kept a dangerous look in her eyes, “You have until the next bell.” She said in what sounded like a warning.

Her grip fell away painstakingly slow, the tips of her fingers dragging along his coat as she receded. Martha walked forward with one last grin, heading for her usual table with other senators of the same ideology and rank.

A shiver crept up his spin from the chill that flowed between the now empty space she once occupied. Logan straightened and fixed himself before taking his leave, accompanied by a final glance in her direction. He may despise the tactics she used and her overbearing personality, but Logan would not deny his admiration for her intellect and cunning. She may have been a good ally if it weren’t for her manipulation and deceitful tendencies.

The hotel where Logan and Joan were staying at was two blocks away from the Senatorial Hall so he didn’t bother hailing a cab to get back to his room. A short five-minute walk was all it took.

The hotel room was grand and spacious, with two bedrooms, a common area, and a kitchen. Yet, with his lack of spare time and his lack of knowledge on meal preparation, the Kitchen was left devoid of everything except takeout boxes.

Joan was most likely still at the Hall eating with a few fellow deputies they had managed to befriend, meaning Logan was left to eat alone.

Ordering from the room service menu, Logan sat down at the dining table and pulled out his tablet to go over his notes, but a proper line of thought was unable to form due to the threat of Martha.

Logan knew that offering her control over him was unwise and could potentially be disastrous depending on the bill; yet, he also knew that the possible answer and solution to all of his winding questions about the Stacks were potentially held in the underground archives. It wasn’t guaranteed though.

His shoulders hung heavy with the weight of what his decision could spell for the future. Joan had offered some valuable points that had pushed him a little one direction, but he needed the affirmation of another to shove him towards it.

A swipe of his finger made the notes on his screen disappear and brought forward his contacts. Scrolling down he hesitated when he found the name he was looking for. It had been a while since he last talked to Patton, and the last time he did was when he abruptly kissed him in a spur of the moment decision.

However, now was not the time to be hesitant or too sentimental, he needed the advice from the only other person he could trust.

The screen rung aloud on speaker for what felt like ages, the green phone icon pulsating as it tried to connect with the other line. His heart pounded in anticipation until finally, he picked up.

“Uh, h-hi there Logan.” Patton greeted through the screen. The image of the chef showed that he was in bed without his glasses, accompanied by two sleeping little boys. Logan must have woken him up.

“Good evening, Patton. I apologize for waking you.” Suddenly he felt very self-conscious about calling him without prior announcement. He hadn’t called before because he wanted Patton to focus on his well being and not be bothered by any intrusions.

No time for that now, he must focus.

“N-No it’s fine, I’m glad you called.” He cut himself off with a yawn, a hand came up to rub at a tired eye, creating the most adorable sight, “So what are you calling for?”

“I wanted your opinion on something, about T.S.E.I.”

Logan went on to explain the situation he was currently trapped in with Senator Quinn, about the possibility of discovering more about the Stacks, and the possible repercussions if he decided to go through with it. Patton stayed quiet and attentive as Logan spoke, shifting himself in bed to sit against the headboard. Thomas groaned out a sleepy complained when he did but did not stir.

“Well, that does sound scary and I definitely don’t want you to lose your job.” Patton finally contributed once Logan had finished speaking.

“Because then I wouldn’t be able to pay you?” Logan teased, leaning forward on the table as if it would actually bring him closer to the other man.

“No, of course not!” Patton said quickly, “I just think you’re amazing… is all.” 

Patton turned his eyes away and twiddled his thumbs in a shy manner, face reddening ever so slightly as he bit his bottom lip. Logan blushed and cursed him for being too cute for his health.

Letting out a hard cough, Logan went back to the subject at hand.

“So, what do you think I should do?”

“I can’t really decide that for you, but if I were in your position I’d do anything to help the Stacks. I can’t explain why, but I know they’re suffering there, dying.”

A dreary look crossed over Patton’s face as he speaks, one had never thought possible from one so cheerful and pleasant as him. Logan grew concerned from it and wondered what could have possibly warranted such a look.

“Well,” Logan breathes, “if it matters that much to you, then it matters to me.”

“Really?” Patton nearly shouted, his eyes wide and excited, like a child in a candy shop.

The prior feeling of danger and concern displayed at the sight of Patton smiling. He had appeared so downcast lately when he was in Flor, so being able to elicit a smile from him meant more than anything to him at the moment.

“Yes, thank you, Patton. I’ve made my decision.” The correct one, he was sure of it.

“I’ll be rooting for you then.” A pause of silence passed before Patton spoke again, “Logan?”

“Yes?” He asked, almost eagerly.

“Could you call me like this again?”

Logan was not one for cursing but almost swore aloud at the feeling of his heart missing a beat. Perhaps this wasn’t too good for his health.

“Yes.”

A relieved sigh escaped them both.

“Thank you.”

The call ended after saying their goodbyes. A knock on his hotel door announced the arrival of his dinner. The clock told him that he’d only have twenty minutes to eat before he left, not that he terribly minded. When that time was up he’d have to go back and face Martha. However, this time it didn’t feel too daunting, Patton had given him the courage he needed to do it.

On his way back to the Hall Logan reached into his coat pocket and held tightly onto the lapis stone that Patton had gifted him for Christmas, feeling calm.

 

...

 

The pristine whiteness of the hoodie he had snatched from Roman’s closet what browning with dirt and filth as Virgil woke up from another nap in an unclean hole beneath a city bridge. Earlier he had attempted to go back to the broken down house he had been staying at, but the sight of gangsters, all wearing a brand of yellow, waiting outside the door to collect a toll had forced him to find somewhere else to sleep. Virgil didn’t care all that much though, it wasn’t as if he were leaving anything behind in that house, everything he owned was on his person. Or back in the Stacks.

Everything of importance to him was still in his crate atop of his old stack, where the first watch he ever made sat on the floor next to the cardboard box he used to use as a table when he would sell his wares, carrying the dream he once held onto tightly. Dolores, Agatha, and Hoa were still there too, with baby Pearl. The nights were beginning to drop into the negative, they were probably cold and needed blankets. They were most likely hungry. They might even be dead.

And he wasn’t there to save them.

Virgil gave his head a violent shake, clutching his muddy hands into his blond hair, staining it brown. He had left it all behind in order to focus on his mission before he was inevitably caught, going back or regretting his decision was not an option. Yet, it still haunted him.

So many people had relied on him to survive, they depended on him to share his possessions so that they could eat, and he had abandoned them. If they went to bed hungry, if they froze, if they suffered, it was because of him. It would be all his fault.

No. Virgil reminded himself of who had created the Stacks and put his people and him in that forsaken pit in the first place. All the death and destruction was  _ their _ fault. Virgil was different, he was trying to save his people.

A cold breeze reached him under the bridge and he shuddered, rubbing his hands, creating lines of brown on his hoodie, covering even more of the white. Virgil didn’t terribly mind, he wasn't one to wear white anyway. Although part of him did regret not taking care of Roman’s hoodie, he quickly disposed of the idea.

Not wanting to sit and wait to freeze, Virgil stood, heaving a heavy groan of pain and relief as his sore muscles cracked and popped. The streets were empty at this time of night, but Virgil still favors sticking to the alleyways as an extra precaution. About forty minutes of walking found Virgil beside an abandoned hotel in front of a door that led under the building.

The inside wasn’t too much warmer than the outside, but it was still heaven in comparison. Sneaking around the walls, Virgil kept his eyes out for any familiar faces, careful to not reveal himself too soon. Slowly, cautiously, Virgil peaked his head around the corner, searching for bodies who could pose a threat. Remy stood in the center of the room staring right at him. 

“Took you long enough.” He grinned, placing a hand on his hip and hitting it out. Virgil sighed and stepped out, looking around, he saw no one else. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.” Virgil groaned rubbing his dirty hands over his dirty face. 

“I bet, where’ve you been, girl?”

“All over, can’t exactly stay still for too long.”

“And you can’t be here either,” Remy chided, “Ever since you up and left Damien has been up my ass about finding you.” His voice turned serious, “He’ll find you if you stay here in the lower districts.”

Virgil exhaled and sat down slowly on the couch to his right, leaning forward and rubbing his hands through his hair, turning more of the yellow to brown. He knew he’d be in danger if he stayed, that Damien would be too close for comfort, but he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. But he’d rather be living in a dumpster or in prison than go back to where he was. Now that he’s had a taste of freedom he couldn’t let it go.

“Does he know I’m here yet?” Virgil asked quietly. His fist clenched tightly on the cloth of his pants. Remy shook his head and his fist loosened, barely.

“Not yet, but his goons are everywhere. You won’t make it the next couple of days though.” Remy warned him, his voice was concerned and brutally honest. “Usually I would go along with whatever the dirtbag wanted, as long as it made it easier for me,” He paused, his volume lowering to a near whisper, “But not this time.”

Virgil looked up from his lap but was taken by surprise when Remy suddenly enveloped him in an embrace. He jolted from the unexpected contact, but he didn’t fight against it, he knew Remy wouldn’t hurt him. In spite of his flirtatious demeanor, the black-marketer wasn’t one for physical contact or close relationships, not since Damien burned him in their time together. So the fact that he went so far as to hug Virgil meant that he truly was scared for his safety. 

Remy ran a hand through Virgil’s hair and slumped over his shoulder, resting his head in the junction of Virgil’s neck. Virgil remained stiff but returned the embrace.

“You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah,”

“Always askin’ me for favors, whining about your feelings, having me help you take care of others when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re like a child. Did you even realize you’re not wearing a coat?”

“Did you realize that you sound like a lecturing mom?” The thief fired back,

“Heh, I probably do.” Remy chuckled rising up and slumping into the couch next to Virgil. He wore a calm and carefree mask, everything about him on the outside screamed that he was fine, but Virgil could see beneath it. Remy was trembling.  

“Hey, it’s okay.” Virgil consoled him, shifting his body towards him, “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Remy admitted, dropping his head on Virgil’s smaller shoulder, “You spend so much time taking care of others that you undermine yourself. You’re gonna end up dead one day if you don’t stop.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I know.”

“I hate them all. Damien, the city, the world, I hate it.”

“...I know that too.”

“I’m going to destroy it, even if I have to go down with it.” He declared, clenching his teeth and pulling his hands into fists. 

A soft hand grasped his.

“You’ll be leaving an awful lot of people behind,” Remy told him. “Your dad, brothers, and even that little cop.”

Virgil twitched slightly at the mention of Roman but ignored it. He didn’t want to think of him at the moment.

“They’re better off without me in the picture.” He muttered.

“There you go again,” Remy pouted, weakly knocking Virgil in the head, “always undermining yourself. If you don’t stop that I won’t forgive you.”

“Sorry,” Virgil apologized not really meaning it. 

Remy never liked it when he talked bad about himself, neither did Patton for that matter. Virgil didn’t care though, he was only speaking the truth. He ruined and destroyed everything around him. His real parents died and he couldn’t even honor their memory; everyone he went to didn’t want him, and the only one who did ended up getting screwed over with mountains of debt just to keep Virgil out of trouble for being a dumbass; his little brothers could barely have a childhood with the constant money demands that he couldn’t pay because he decided to be rebellious; his only friend Remy was being pulled back into the life he left because he selfishly decided to run away; and Roman, who was kind enough to help him and offer him a place to stay, had his life threatened because he was too scared to get close.

He ruined so many lives, he wasn’t sure if he could ever truly make amends for all that he has done. The whole idea of tearing down the city was most likely a fool’s errand. Even so, something had to be done about all the suffering in the Stacks, and the turmoil he kept inside. To him, there was no other option, not one he would allow.

“Say, Remy, remember those gloves you gave me?”

“Let me guess, you lost them.” Virgil nodded, “No can do babe. I may have turned a blind eye before, but I never agreed with your dangerous tendencies, I won’t help ya’ this time.”

“I see, fine then.” Virgil breathed a tired exhale, not at all surprised he was rejected.

“But I will give you this,” Remy said handing over a large back winter coat, long enough to reach past his knees, and thick enough to protect him from the winds. “You’ll freeze if all you wear is that thin jacket.”

“Thank you, Remy,” Virgil smiled softly and slipped the jacket on, immediately feeling warmer. He stood up and stretched, knowing that he had already been there too long. It was about time he left. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“You better.”

Virgil walked back out into the shivering night, his hood up and his hair tucked under his cap. A cough tried to escape his mouth, but he bit it back. He let his feet carry him away from Remy’s home, unsure of their exact path or destination. It didn’t matter, as long as he got away and was able to complete what he set out to do, he’d be just fine. Still, he had the feeling he wasn’t going to get a good sleep that night or any night in the near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm graduating from High School tomorrow! My sister is coming to visit, and I'm gonna be busy for a while, but I plan to not make y'all wait this long again, sorry.  
> This entire chapter was basically Patton and Roman missing their boyfriends, lol.   
> Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, I do not like to edit and I really wanted to get it out to y'all faster. Anywhoo, thank you so much for reading my story and I hope you enjoyed it. If my calculations are right, there are only five chapters left. I'll be sad to see this story go.  
> I love y'all so much and I'll see ya next time (hopefully soon)

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno where I got this idea from, but I wrote this on an impulse. I hope it's good???


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